


Believer

by JCBeckett



Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-03
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:22:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 129,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27374155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JCBeckett/pseuds/JCBeckett
Summary: There are three things Chloe Decker knows:One, she is in love with the Devil.Two, the Devil loves her back (even if he hasn’t said it yet).And three, “celestial craziness” doesn’t even begin to cover what she’s gotten herself into.Picks up right after the cliffhanger in 5A. Fluff, angst, and shameless amounts of Deckerstar within.
Relationships: Chloe Decker/Lucifer Morningstar
Comments: 666
Kudos: 1335





	1. One

Chloe Decker knows Lucifer Morningstar better than most people do.

That’s not saying much, considering he keeps pretty much everyone at arm’s length. Even as Lucifer’s partner—in more ways than one, given recent events—there are still a million things Chloe doesn’t know. 

She knows _him,_ though. She knows his brand of cigarettes and his brand of shoes and how much he abhors wrinkled clothing. She knows better than to steal a sip of his coffee because all she’ll get is a mouthful of coffee-tinged whiskey. She knows that despite his colorful array of nicknames for her daughter, he’s actually very fond of Trixie. She knows that although he prefers to call it _punishment,_ he cares about justice and fairness just as much as she does. She also knows that he cares very, very deeply about what she thinks of him. 

If someone who didn’t know him asked her to describe him, there are plenty of descriptors she could use. Most of them would be contradictions. He’s smart, but also stunningly clueless. He’s friendly but aloof. Affectionate but distant. Observant but oblivious. Casually kind and casually cruel, often in the same breath. 

Dan was right when he muttered _Guy’s a freaking enigma._

If she had to settle on two words, though, she knows which ones she’d pick. The first is proud. No one is as proud as Lucifer. It often gets him into trouble, and it often infuriates her, but there’s something magnetic about how sure he is of himself. It makes her want to be sure of herself, too. 

The second is that he’s impulsive. He just...he doesn’t _think_. The moment an impulse throbs in his chest, he chases it—no questions asked. He says what he wants and he does what he wants, regardless of how it might impact the people around him.

When they first started working together, Chloe hated his impulsivity. It made her job harder, and it pushed her out of her comfort zone, and it transformed her carefully ordered life into something messy and unpredictable. 

If she’s honest with herself, though, she knows there was a part of her that was just jealous. She envied his freedom. She didn’t know what it was like to get an idea in her head and act on it, consequences be damned, but it seemed...exhilarating. Sometimes, on nights when she felt restless but didn’t know why, she wondered if she would be happier if she was more like her partner. 

But then she saw the dark side of his impulsivity. She experienced the devastation that his thoughtlessness could leave in his wake, and it _hurt._ It hurt to sit in that restaurant at an empty table, pretending she didn’t see the waitress shooting her looks of pity when Lucifer stood her up. It hurt to get her hopes up that they would finally talk about what was going on between them, only to get ghosted and then subjected to Mrs. Candy Fucking Morningstar. 

After Lucifer went back to Hell—after she begged him not to go and told him she loved him and he still left her anyway—there was a brief period where she hit rock bottom. It seemed like her life since she’d met him had been nothing but one giant loop of putting herself out there and getting rejected. Confessing her feelings and hearing _goodbye_ in response was the worst rejection yet, and she couldn’t deal with his decision making anymore. She couldn’t keep caring about someone who didn’t care enough about her to think before he acted. It just...it hurt too much. 

She realized, eventually, that she was wrong. His return to Hell wasn’t selfish or impulsive. It was the opposite. It was noble. Sacrificial. He did it for her, and for their family and friends, and it made her love him even more. 

But even though she understood his decision—admired it, even—she still felt abandoned. Even though he told her that he spent thousands of years in Hell dreaming about their reunion, she wondered whether part of him was relieved to have an excuse to be away from her after her declaration. And even when she was finally, _finally_ naked in his bed, and his hands were like fire on her skin as he breathed her name like a prayer, there was still a small, quiet voice in the back of her mind whispering _He’s going to leave you again._

That’s exactly what she’s thinking in the evidence room after the Michael fiasco. 

She’s trying not to cry. Really, she is. But her throat is too tight, and it feels like her sternum is cracking from the force of everything building in her chest, and she can’t help it. 

“So just tell me,” she says, voice wavering. “Is that...why you haven’t said it back?”

Lucifer looks incredulous. “Haven’t said _what_ back?”

That’s when she realizes she was wrong. She thought the worst thing he could possibly tell her was _yes, you’re right, I haven’t said it back because I don’t lie and I don’t love you._ But this is worse. He doesn’t even know what she’s _talking_ about. She spent every day he was gone replaying her confession and his last words over and over again, certain that if she could just get him back then he’d say the words to her. But here he is, back and supposedly hers, and he doesn’t even _remember._

She can’t look at him anymore. She drops her gaze. Her eyes are warm, and then they’re wet. Lucifer exhales a soft, “Oh,” and Chloe’s heart starts to break in her chest. 

She forces herself to glance up at him, hoping she’ll see something encouraging in his expression, but she doesn’t. He seems to be at a loss for words, and the cracks in her heart start to deepen. Lucifer is _never_ at a loss for words. 

He doesn’t love her, does he?

He doesn’t love her.

“Detective, it’s...it’s complicated,” he murmurs.

“Right,” she says, hoping that she can pretend to be fine long enough to get the hell out of here and compose herself somewhere that he’s not. It’s bad enough he doesn’t love her. Falling apart in front of him because he doesn’t feel the same way she does is a humiliation she can’t bear. 

But he sees right through her. Suddenly he’s rambling, and he sounds increasingly desperate, and she just keeps saying _right_ like some kind of broken record until—

“Chloe.”

She snaps her gaze back up to his. She knows what it means for him to call her by her first name. Hope flutters in her chest. 

“I…” he starts. 

_Oh my god,_ she thinks, her whole body going still. _He’s going to say it. He’s…_

Gone. 

He’s gone. 

Wait, what?

Chloe blinks at the empty space in front of her where, just a second ago, Lucifer stood. Except he’s not there anymore. There’s no trace of him except the faint scent of his cologne. The room is dead silent. She’s alone.

Why is she alone?

“...Lucifer?” she murmurs.

No response.

She frowns. She turns around, but he’s not behind her. He’s not _anywhere._ She walks the rows of evidence just to be sure, sweeping her gaze over every inch of the room, but he’s nowhere to be found. He just...disappeared.

“Lucifer,” she calls again, her voice louder this time. If he’s playing a trick on her, she’s going to _strangle_ him. 

But he wouldn’t do that. She knows that. If he’s gone it’s because something happened. Probably something celestial. 

Or because he’s running from her. 

Again.

For a moment, she feels like she’s right back in his penthouse, staring at all his furniture covered in sheets. 

_Gone,_ a voice whispers in the back of her mind. It repeats and starts to crescendo. _Gone gone gone—_

“No,” she says aloud. Her voice cracks on the word, but the whispers in her head stop. She casts one last glance around the evidence room, and then heads for the door. 

When she swings it open and steps out into the bullpen, she finds chaos. There’s a crowd of cops in the distance by the conference room. She scans the area, looking for Lucifer, but doesn’t see him. She hurries in the direction of the crowd, wondering if they’re huddled around her partner, but when she pushes through to the front all she finds is that one of the conference room walls has been shattered and there’s glass everywhere. 

“Chloe,” a voice calls. 

Chloe looks up and sees Linda on the other side of the broken glass, holding a crying Charlie in her arms. She looks concerned, and Chloe has a feeling it’s not just because Charlie is upset. 

No one in the huddle of cops is doing anything except staring at Linda and staring at the broken glass and murmuring shit like _What the hell happened?_ so Chloe takes charge.

“Robbins,” she says, grabbing the nearest uniform. “Call maintenance.”

“Yes ma’am,” he says with a nod.

“Want me to call the lieutenant, Decker?” Cacuzza asks. 

“She’s in a meeting with city brass,” someone says from the crowd.

“Call her anyway,” Chloe says to Cacuzza. “She doesn’t like to be the last to know stuff.”

Cacuzza snorts in agreement and lifts her phone to her ear. Chloe steps carefully through the broken glass and into the conference room. She scans Linda’s body for injuries out of habit.

“Are you all right?”

“We’re fine,” Linda says, waving off her concern. 

“What happened?” 

“I have no idea.” Linda shifts Charlie in her arms and then slips a pacifier into his mouth. He stops crying immediately. “One minute Amenadiel and I were in here talking, and the next thing I know he’s—”

“Gone,” Chloe finishes in unison with her. She glances around the room. “Lucifer too. It’s like he disappeared out of thin air.”

“I don’t understand,” Linda says. “Where’d they go?”

“No clue.”

“Has this ever happened before with you two?”

“No.” Chloe frowns as a memory surfaces. “Well, sort of.”

Linda sets Charlie back in his stroller. “What do you mean sort of?”

“I mean there’s been a few times when I blinked and all of a sudden Lucifer wasn’t where I left him. But he was never gone. He was just...somewhere else close by.” She leans toward Linda and lowers her voice. “Did you know Amenadiel can—”

“Slow time?” Linda finishes quietly as she straightens. “Yes, but he’s had trouble doing it lately.” She shakes her head with a frown. “Even if he figured out how to do it again, why would he?”

“I don’t know,” Chloe says with a sigh. “But his timing sucks.”

One of Linda’s eyebrows lifts. “Oh? And why is that?”

Chloe purses her lips and considers whether or not to share. Lucifer and Amenadiel appear to be missing, and there’s shattered glass all over the floor, and a crowd of her colleagues are feet away. It’s probably not the ideal time to ask Linda if she thinks Lucifer is freaked out by the seriousness of their relationship. But if Lucifer is dealing with celestial shit, then there’s nothing either Chloe or Linda can do until he shows up again. She might as well take advantage of the moment.

“Lucifer and I were talking,” she says.

Linda’s eyebrow lifts higher. “About?”

“About the thing he hasn’t said.” 

Linda looks puzzled. “The thing he hasn’t said,” she repeats slowly. 

Chloe glances over her shoulder, and then steps closer so she can lower her voice even more. “You know, the _thing._ The thing I said before he went back to...well, before he went down south.”

“Ohhh,” Linda says, recognition dawning on her face. “Right. _That_ thing.” And then her eyes widen. “Did he say it back?”

“No. I mean, I think he was going to? He said it was complicated. Then he said _I do. Of course I do._ But that’s, like, not the same thing.” She frowns. “Right?”

“Not the same thing,” Linda confirms, shaking her head. 

“I thought so,” Chloe sighs. “But then he said my name.”

“Oh,” Linda says, her voice lifting. A smile spreads over her lips. “That’s a good sign.”

“Right?” Chloe says, relieved that she’s not the only one who thinks so. “But then he disappeared, and now he’s nowhere to be found.” Fear flickers in her chest, familiar and uncomfortable. “You don’t think he had Amenadiel freeze time so he could get away from me, do you?”

“No,” Linda says. “Lucifer from a year ago, maybe. But Lucifer now? After spending thousands of years in Hell pining over you? I seriously doubt it.”

Warmth floods through Chloe’s veins. “He said he was pining over me?”

Linda smiles. “Not in those exact words, no. But that was the impression I got.”

An image of Lucifer sitting on a giant black throne, surrounded by flames and staring longingly down at a photo of her, suddenly floats across Chloe’s mind. She presses her lips together so she won’t smile. 

“Chloe,” Linda says gently in her therapist voice. “Can I give you some advice?”

“Yes, please,” Chloe says with a bit of a laugh. “I need all the help I can get.”

Linda folds her hands in front of her the same way she would if she were sitting in the chair in her office. “If Lucifer is having a hard time saying the words back to you, it might not be about you or your relationship. In fact, I’m almost certain that it has nothing to do with the way he feels about you.”

Chloe frowns. “Then what’s it about?”

“Well, it’s complicated.” 

Chloe gives her a look.

“I know,” Linda says with a laugh. “But I don’t think Lucifer was feeding you a line. I think he was just being honest with you. For someone like him, those words are very loaded.”

“You mean because he’s never been in a serious relationship before?”

“Well, there’s that,” Linda says. “But it’s also more than that. We develop our understanding of love through formative relationships with family members. Take your daughter, for instance. She’s got two affectionate, attentive parents, so it’s easy for her to express love to other people. She’s had it modeled for her. Compare that with someone like Maze, who didn’t have parents like you and Dan, and you get the opposite.”

“But Maze is a demon.”

“And Lucifer is the Devil,” Linda counters. “Amenadiel is one of the few siblings he has a good relationship with, and that’s a pretty recent development. Things between him and his mother weren’t healthy. And his father isn’t exactly...”

Chloe frowns when Linda trails off. “Isn’t exactly what?” 

“Let’s put a pin in this,” Linda says quietly, glancing past Chloe toward the bullpen.

“But—”

“Detective,” Lucifer calls.

Chloe’s heart skips a beat at the sound of his voice. She turns toward him. He’s struggling through the crowd of cops on the other side of the broken glass.

“Yes, excuse me, please,” he says. “Devil coming through. I’ve very important things to discuss with my partner, far more important than whatever it is you’re discussing. My goodness, Officer Banks, there’s no need to take up so much space. _Excuse_ me.”

He finally gets through the crowd, takes a giant step over the broken glass, and comes to a stop in front of them. 

“Well I’ve been looking all over for you, Detective,” he says, a hint of exasperation creeping into his voice. His eyes flicker over her like he’s checking for injuries the same way she just did to Linda. “Why didn’t you stay where I left you? You had me worried.”

Chloe frowns. “ _I_ had _you_ worried?”

“Well, _obviously,_ ” he says as if she’s just asked him whether the sky is blue and grass is green.

Chloe points a finger at him. “ _You’re_ the one who disappeared out of thin air, Lucifer.”

Lucifer blinks at her for a second. “Right,” he says, smoothing a hand absently over his torso. “I’m sure you’re very confused. Might we...” He glances over his shoulder at the crowd of cops and then leans toward her. “Might we have this conversation in private?”

Irritation flares unexpectedly in Chloe’s chest. “We already _were._ "

Lucifer furrows his eyebrows. “You’re angry with me,” he observes quietly. He searches her eyes like he’s confused but trying to understand, and then his entire body seems to deflate. “Of course. I...I ran out on our conversation and you...well, of course you’re angry.”

He looks like a kicked puppy. Chloe feels immediately guilty. 

“No,” she says, shaking her head. “No, I just…” She doesn’t know what she is, so she doesn’t finish her sentence. Linda is glancing back and forth between them with a clear look of interest on her face, and the crowd by the broken glass doesn’t appear to be going anywhere anytime soon, so Chloe gestures toward the bullpen. “Yeah, we can speak privately.” 

Lucifer perks up immediately. “Wonderful.”

Chloe casts a glance at Linda. “Will you be okay?”

“Of course,” Linda replies. 

“Not to worry, Amenadiel will be along shortly,” Lucifer says. “The good doctor will be just fine until then.” He slides his hand along the small of Chloe’s back and tries to lead her from the room, but Chloe plants her feet. Lucifer frowns at her.

“Can we finish this conversation later?” she asks Linda.

Linda smiles. “Of course. Anytime you want to grab a drink, I’m there.”

Chloe thinks of their first ever girls night and smiles. She reaches out and squeezes the doctor’s arm. Linda covers her hand and squeezes back.

“Did I miss something?” Lucifer asks, glancing between them.

“No,” Chloe and Linda say in unison with matching smiles.

Chloe turns on her heel and steps carefully over the glass again. Lucifer follows. He falls in step next to her once they get through the crowd of cops, and latches onto her elbow like he’s afraid she’ll run from him if he doesn’t hang on. 

Halfway to the evidence room Chloe realizes his eyes are sweeping the bullpen the way hers do when she’s looking for an armed suspect. His back is ramrod straight. He seems on edge.

“Are you okay?” she murmurs.

“Yes, yes, I’m fine,” he says dismissively. But he doesn’t look fine.

She swallows a follow up question and waits until they’re back in the evidence room. As Lucifer shuts the door behind him, she feels a wave of deja vu. 

“Right,” Lucifer says, turning to face her. “Here we are.” He flashes her a smile. “Again. Sorry about that.”

“About which part?” she asks, folding her arms. “Disappearing into thin air in the middle of our conversation, or breaking the conference room glass?”

The corner of his mouth twitches upward. “And how do you know _I_ was the one who broke the glass?”

“Well were you?”

His mouth twitches again. “Perhaps.”

Chloe throws up her hands.

“I was _forced,_ ” he says, fiddling with one of his cufflinks. “It wasn’t my fault, I assure you. The department can take it out of Maze’s next check if they’re so inclined.”

Chloe frowns. “Maze? Maze pushed you through the glass?”

“Well technically she _kicked_ me, but yes.” Lucifer suddenly looks like he just sucked on a very sour lemon. “It seems she’s taken up with Michael.”

“ _What?_ ” Chloe demands.

“He promised her a soul,” Lucifer says, waving his hand as if that’s a totally normal thing to say. “Which is just absurd. Really, she should know better. It’s impossible.” He tilts his head thoughtfully. “I suppose Dad could do it. Part of his all-powerful schtick. But he’s bloody well not going to do it for sniveling, psychotic Michael. For Amenadiel, maybe. Gabriel. Perhaps Raphael, if one assumes lacking a soul is an illness, but even then—”

“Okay,” Chloe cuts him off, holding up a hand. “Before we go through what I’m sure is a _very_ long list of your siblings, can you maybe tell me what the hell is going on?”

“Of course,” Lucifer says, bowing his head. “My apologies.” He steps closer to her. “It appears you were right to be concerned about my brother’s master plan. Michael is to blame for Charlie’s cold. He worked Amenadiel into a lather over Charlie being fully human rather than half angel, and Amenadiel’s distress caused him to stop time entirely.”

“I thought he _slowed_ time.”

“He does. Well, he did. He’s been a bit impotent as of late.” Lucifer grins like the Cheshire cat. “Performance issues are not something I struggle with, Detective, I can assure you. Just in case there was any question.”

Chloe thinks it wise not to mention that not so long ago, he couldn’t use his mojo just like Amenadiel couldn’t slow time. She doesn’t imagine pointing out impotence of any sort is something Lucifer would appreciate. 

“Right,” she says instead. “So he stopped time, and…?”

“And you froze mid-conversation.”

“I froze?”

“Yes. All you humans did. I left you here in search of Amenadiel so that he could unfreeze time and we could continue our very important conversation, but we were interrupted by my idiot brother and my idiot demon, who should perhaps consider changing her name to Benedict Maze. Maze-dict, if you will.” Lucifer grins. “Rather apt, seeing as she’s behaving a bit dickishly, don’t you think?”

Chloe blinks at him. “Maze betrayed you, and you’re making jokes?”

Lucifer’s grin fades. “Well it wouldn’t be the first time she’s switched sides on me, Detective. I’m certain it won’t be the last.”

“You mean in Hell.”

“No, I mean in Los Angeles. She’s betrayed me multiple times since you and I met.”

Chloe stares at him. “She _has?_ ”

“She’s a demon, Detective. It’s what she does. Who she is.”

Chloe frowns. There’s a thought forming in the back of her mind, a desire to point out that maybe Maze keeps acting this way because that’s how he _expects_ her to act, but now’s not the time to open that can of worms. They still haven’t sorted through the first can. 

“So you and Amenadiel fought Maze and Michael,” she guesses.

“Indeed,” Lucifer confirms. 

“And you...won?”

“Well I’m certain we would have prevailed if my father hadn’t shown up.”

Chloe’s mouth falls open. “Your _what?_ ”

“My father. He appeared on the stairs in a blaze of glory. Very cliche, if you ask me, but he’s always been rather fond of making a grand entrance. Although you’d think for his first appearance on earth in eons he’d have chosen something better to wear than that horrible knitted monstrosity. He looked like he wandered out of an old folks’ home.”

Chloe’s ears are ringing. “Your dad was _here?_ ”

Lucifer frowns at her. “Yes, I’ve just said that.”

“Like, _here?_ In this precinct? On our stairs?”

Lucifer’s frown deepens. “Are you certain you didn’t suffer a concussion whilst in captivity?” He lifts his hands to either side of her face and squints. “I remember a paramedic at one of my particularly raucous parties mentioning something about pupils…”

“Lucifer,” Chloe says, brushing his hands away from her face. “Stop. I don’t have a concussion.”

“Well you’re repeating things like a drunkard.”

“I’m not _drunk,_ ” she says, her exasperation building. “I’m _human_ and you’re telling me that God himself was just in the middle of my precinct and it’s...it’s a lot to take in, okay?”

“All right,” Lucifer says. He straightens his jacket absently. “But I don’t think you’d feel this way if you’d seen him in that horrid cardigan.”

Chloe stares at him for a moment, and then she can’t help it. She snorts out a laugh. Of _course_ Lucifer is concerned about the cardigan. Of course he is.

Lucifer looks pleased by her amusement. He always does.

“Okay,” Chloe says, brushing her hair behind her ear. “So your dad...appeared. Did he say why?”

“Well he wasn’t thrilled we were fighting.”

Chloe frowns. “But you’ve fought with your siblings before.”

“Thousands of times.”

“And he’s never stepped in before?”

“No,” Lucifer scoffs. “He doesn’t deign to be involved in such trivial matters as the lives of his children. Absentee father in chief, remember?”

“Right,” Chloe says. “So why now?”

For the first time since they started this conversation, Lucifer looks uncomfortable. He rolls his shoulders, and shifts his weight from one foot to the other. He lifts a hand to stroke absently over his vest, and then he starts to fiddle with one of his cufflinks again. His brow is furrowed. He looks...apprehensive.

Lucifer never looks apprehensive. 

Chloe steps toward him. “Lucifer?”

He meets her gaze. “It seems he has an announcement to make.”

“An announcement,” Chloe repeats. As soon as she says it, she expects him to say something obnoxious about how she’s repeating things again. But he doesn’t. 

“Yes,” he says instead. He flickers his gaze over her face, his eyebrows still furrowed, and then he murmurs, “He’d like to break bread tomorrow evening.”

“He...what?”

“Break bread. It’s his insufferably superior way of asking us to share a meal.”

“So your dad...wants to have a family dinner so he can make an announcement?” 

“Yes,” Lucifer says with a grimace. “That is correct.”

Chloe stares at him. She’s not sure what to say to that, so she says the first thing that comes to mind. “Wow.”

“That’s one way to put it,” Lucifer mutters.

Chloe glances up at him, and the expression on his face sends a wave of sympathy crashing over her. She has _never_ thought that Lucifer and Trixie were anything alike. But looking at him now, while he stares off into the distance with a bewildered expression on his face, she can’t help but think of the moment when she and Dan told Trixie they were going to separate. It’s not so much the confusion, though there’s that too. It’s more that Lucifer looks...well, he looks like a little kid. Unsure and maybe even scared. Like he needs a hug. 

The impulse to hug him throbs in her chest. She leans toward him, but second guesses herself and stops. Maybe he doesn’t want a hug. His inability to say those three words back to her not so long ago is still heavy in the air, and she doesn’t think she can handle another rejection right now. So she reaches out and puts her hand on his arm instead. She knows he won’t mind that.

His fingers, which were rubbing over his cufflink, go still. He lifts his gaze to hers.

“Are you okay?” she asks. 

He scoffs. “I’m—”

“Lucifer,” she cuts him off gently. She doesn’t say anything else, but she doesn’t think she needs to.

He swallows, and then nods as if he understands what she’s saying even though she didn’t say it. He covers her hand with his. “I’m not sure how I feel,” he confesses quietly.

“That’s okay,” Chloe says, squeezing his arm. “You don’t have to have any answers. I’m sure it’s a lot to take in.”

His eyebrows furrow again, but there’s a different expression on his face now. It’s more like...wonder. Awe, even. 

“What?” she asks. 

He smiles. “I find your presence very soothing. It...well, it makes everything quieter.”

Chloe opens her mouth, but no words come out. She’s not even sure what words she _wanted_ to come out. What is she even supposed to say to that? It’s the sweetest thing anyone has ever said to her. 

She swallows around a sudden tightness in her throat. “I’m glad.”

His thumb strokes over her knuckles. “As am I.”

Chloe gazes at him. The way he _looks_ at her. Like he’s found water in the desert. _I love you_ is right on the tip of her tongue, but she swallows it.

“So are you going to go?” she asks, pulling her hand back.

“I’m afraid I don’t have much of a choice,” he sighs. “But rest assured, Detective, I didn’t make the decision for both of us. It is completely up to you whether you’d like to join me.”

Chloe stares at him. Her ears are ringing again. “What?”

“You have a choice,” Lucifer clarifies. “You needn’t come if you don’t want to.”

“Wait,” Chloe says, holding up her hand. “Are you...are you saying _I’m_ invited? To the celestial family dinner?”

“Indeed.” 

For a second, Chloe’s certain that her brain is going to explode. She feels like one of those toys Trixie loved when she was a baby, the ones that started to stutter and repeat the same sound over and over again when they were getting low on batteries. Except instead of an annoying song about five little monkeys jumping on the bed, all she can say is, “What?”

“Linda will be there, of course,” Lucifer says. “So you wouldn’t be the only mortal, should you choose to come.”

“Linda?”

“Well she is the mother of Amenadiel’s child, after all. Dad acted as if including her was a purely magnanimous gesture, but I think we all know he’s just curious about the mother of his first grandson and the woman who caught the eye of his favorite son.”

“Is that why I’m invited?” Chloe croaks. “Because I caught _your_ eye?”

“Well you certainly caught someone’s eye,” Lucifer mutters grumpily. “Michael couldn’t _wait_ to suggest I bring my better half. I tried to point out that you’re _very_ busy being one of L.A.’s finest—” He pauses and grins and darts his eyes over her body. “And I do mean finest in _every_ sense of the word.” 

Chloe can’t bring herself to smile. Lucifer doesn’t seem to notice. 

“But Michael was insistent and Dad was—”

“Wait,” Chloe cuts him off. “Are you saying _Michael_ is the one who invited me to family dinner? Not you?”

“Well I didn’t think you’d be interested in passing the potatoes to the monster who recently kidnapped you, so no. It wasn’t my idea.”

“Right,” Chloe says. “That...that makes sense.” And it does. But also...Lucifer wasn’t going to invite her to family dinner? She’s only invited because his _brother_ wants her there?

“We’ll be in Linda’s home,” Lucifer says, oblivious to her thoughts. “Familiar territory for you, which I remember you saying was helpful when dealing with dangerous individuals.”

Chloe nods. She has said that during cases. But this isn’t a cartel or a crazed serial killer. This is God and angels and...holy _shit._ She’s been invited to family dinner with the creator of the universe and his winged sons.

Lucifer is still talking. 

“I won’t let you out of my sight. Michael wouldn’t dare harm you while Dad is present. Sniveling coward,” he adds, almost as if he couldn’t resist. “But Amenadiel and I will be there to protect you as well. You’ll be perfectly safe, you have my word.”

Chloe nods but can’t seem to formulate a response. She can’t...she can’t keep up with this conversation. It’s too surreal.

“Detective?” Lucifer calls. “Did you hear me?”

“Yeah,” Chloe says. “Yeah, just...just processing.”

Lucifer puts his hands on her shoulders and bends forward so that they’re eye level. She finally looks up at him, and he holds her gaze earnestly. “You don’t have to do this,” he says gently.

She shakes her head. “You said we don’t have a choice.”

“I said _I_ don’t have a choice. _You_ have a choice. I made sure of it. I told Dad I’d ask you, but I made it clear that if you refuse then he’ll just have to get over it.”

Chloe blinks at him. “You told _God_ he’d have to _get over it?_ ”

“Well of course,” Lucifer says impatiently. “You are your own person, regardless of his hand in your creation, and I will _not_ stand by and allow him to force you to do things you’re uncomfortable with. He might orchestrate the context _around_ you but he does _not_ get to control how you react to it. That’s the whole bloody point of free will.”

He says it with such fervor that warmth unfurls in Chloe’s chest. He wanted to give her a choice. After all her angst about not having the free will to fall in love with him, he wanted to make sure she could choose to go to his family dinner.

She reaches for him, curling her fingers into the edges of his jacket and stepping more fully into his space. He looks confused by her sudden proximity. 

“Detective?”

“I’ll go,” she says, tipping her head back to look at him. “If you’re there, I’m there.”

Relief blossoms across his face. “Really?” he says softly. But before she can say anything, he frowns. “Are you _sure?_ I have no desire to force your hand. I don’t want you to feel obligated.”

“I don’t.”

He seems unconvinced. “My family is not like yours, Detective. Or any family, really. We’re rather unique.”

“You think?” she says dryly.

He smiles a little, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. 

“We’re partners,” she reminds him, tugging on his jacket. “Where you go, I go. Even if you’re going to the world’s weirdest family dinner with your angsty angel brothers and your distant dad.”

“Why Detective Decker,” Lucifer says, a genuine smile finally spreading over his lips. “I had no idea you had such a knack for alliteration.”

“I’m a woman of many talents.”

“That you are,” he says, brushing his hand over her face. 

For a moment, neither of them say anything. He’s watching his thumb trace over her cheek like he’s trying to convince himself that she’s not a figment of his imagination, and she’s content to just be close to him and stand in a rare moment of silence. He smells good. He always smells good. She doesn’t know what the scent is. She’s never asked. She just knows she likes it. 

“About earlier,” he starts softly. “Before you were frozen.”

Her heart flips in her chest. She very desperately wants to know what he’s about to say, but Linda’s voice is ringing in her ears. 

_For someone like him, those words are very loaded. It has nothing to do with the way he feels about you._

He takes a deep breath. “Detective, I—”

“Don’t,” she interrupts.

Lucifer lifts his eyebrows in surprise. 

“You’re not the only one who has no desire to force anyone,” she tells him. “You’ve got enough on your plate right now with your dad and Michael and dinner. Let’s just deal with that first, and then we can talk, okay?”

He searches her gaze like he’s trying to decide if she’s lying to him. “That’s what you desire?” 

She wonders if he wishes he could use his mojo on her right now. She doesn’t ask. 

“I want to give you what you need,” she says. “You were patient with me when I was dealing with the whole gift-from-God thing. Now it’s my turn. Give and take, remember?”

“Right,” he says. “Give and take.” He ducks his head toward her, and a sly smile spreads over his lips. “Speaking of, could I interest you in a little give and take back at the penthouse? Dinner isn’t until tomorrow evening so we’ve got plenty of time.”

Chloe smiles. “That is _very_ tempting, but I haven’t seen Trix since...you know. I asked Dan if I could have her tonight.”

“Ah, yes. Of course. Well, I’ll pick you up at six thirty tomorrow then?”

Chloe smiles and rises to her toes to kiss him briefly on the lips. 

“It’s a date.”


	2. Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all said such nice things in my comments. Thanks :)

“What about this?”

Trixie, who is sitting on Chloe’s bed with her back against the headboard, looks up from the sketchpad in her lap. Chloe holds her arms out and spins to show off her outfit. When she turns back around, she’s just in time to see Trixie crinkle her nose. 

“Didn’t you wear that to parent-teacher conferences?”

Chloe frowns. “Did I?”

“Yeah. Because when you got home Daddy said the sweater made Mr. Mullins want you real bad.”

Chloe raises her eyebrows. “You heard that?”

Trixie grins. “I hear everything.”

“Great,” Chloe mutters. She needs to tell Dan they’ll have to be more careful about having adult conversations in Trixie’s earshot. “So is that a no on the sweater?”

“No,” Trixie confirms. And then she tilts her head. “Can I pick one?”

Chloe gestures at her closet. “Go for it. You can’t do any worse than I am.”

Trixie scrambles off the bed. Chloe sets her hand on Trixie’s head as she passes, smiling down at her daughter, and then wanders over to the bed. She pulls the sketchpad closer to her and then smiles. Trixie’s drawings have come a long way since the colorful crayon masterpieces that are displayed downstairs. She prefers colored pencils over crayons these days. And Chloe is probably biased, but she thinks they’re pretty good. Her daughter could have a future as an artist. 

“Hey Monkey?” she calls.

“Yeah?” Trixie says, her voice muffled from inside the closet. 

“Your drawings are getting really good. Do you think you might want to be an artist when you grow up?”

“Maybe,” Trixie says. “But I might want to be a forensic scientist like Ella too.”

Chloe smiles. That explains why Trixie is drawing Ella in her forensics jacket with a camera in her hand. “When you’re finished with this one, we can give it to Ella if you want. I’m sure she’d love it. She might even hang it up in her lab.”

“Okay!” Trixie says brightly. Her voice isn’t muffled anymore, and Chloe turns around to find her daughter standing in the closet doorway. “I think you should wear _this._ ”

Chloe lifts her eyebrows. Trixie is holding a black dress with an open back and a plunging neckline. It’s silk and shimmering and _very_ short, and it’s definitely not something Chloe would wear anymore. Especially not to a family dinner where she’s meeting her boyfriend’s dad who also happens to be God. 

“I don’t think that’s going to work, Trix.”

Trixie frowns. “Why not?”

“Well I don’t think Lucifer’s dad is the kind to appreciate a little black dress.”

Trixie grins. “But _Lucifer_ would like it.”

Chloe can’t really argue with that. She’s searching for another excuse when Lucifer himself appears in the doorway. 

“Hi Lucifer!” Trixie greets with her usual enthusiasm. 

“Hello offspring,” Lucifer says with a nod. He glances across the room at Chloe, and his smile deepens. “Hello Detective.” 

“Hey.”

His gaze flickers over her body. When his eyes finally meet hers, he smirks. “Don’t you look smashing.”

Chloe is opening her mouth to thank him—and to ask why he’s got his hands behind his back like a creep—but Trixie speaks first.

“She’s not wearing that.”

Lucifer frowns. “Why not?”

“It’s her parent-teacher conference sweater. It made my math teacher get the hots for her.”

“I beg your pardon?” Lucifer says, shooting a concerned look at Chloe. 

Chloe shakes her head. “No it didn’t.”

“Yes it did,” Trixie argues. She holds up the dress in her hand. “I think she should wear _this._ ”

Lucifer glances in her direction, and then freezes. His eyes widen a little as he takes in the dress, and then a grin that’s positively sinful spreads over his lips. “Oh, _yes._ I approve.”

“No,” Chloe says flatly.

Lucifer and Trixie give her matching pouts. 

“I am _not_ wearing that to meet your father,” Chloe tells Lucifer. She shoots an apologetic look at Trixie as she crosses the room and takes the dress from her. “Sorry, Monkey.”

Trixie sighs. She looks up at Lucifer. “Maybe we can get her to wear it another time.”

“I have some ideas,” Lucifer says. He’s staring at the dress with a glint in his eye, and when he turns his attention to Chloe, she knows he’s not thinking about her wearing the dress so much as what it will be like to take it off of her. 

_Behave,_ she mouths to him over the top of Trixie’s head. They haven’t told Trixie that they’re together yet. Chloe wants to, but she still remembers the roller coaster ride that was Pierce, and she doesn’t want Trixie to have any reason to feel like she’s being whipsawed by her mother’s love life. 

Chloe turns away from her and steps into the closet to hang the dress back up. 

“What’s behind your back?” Trixie wonders. 

“Inherited your mother’s detective skills, have you?” Lucifer says. 

“I’ve learned a thing or two,” Trixie replies. 

Chloe snorts. She emerges from the closet to see Lucifer produce a small plastic container with a single piece of chocolate cake from behind his back. “For you.”

Trixie gasps. “CAKE!” She whips around to look at Chloe. “Can I eat it now, Mom? Can I eat it?”

“Sure,” Chloe laughs.

Trixie snatches the plastic container out of Lucifer’s hand and bolts from the room, presumably down to the kitchen to get a fork. Lucifer watches her go with a pleased smile, and Chloe feels warmth unfurl in her chest. When he turns back to face her, she smiles. 

“That was sweet of you.”

“I didn’t know if you were going to tell her about your ordeal with my brother,” Lucifer explains. “I thought it might ease her pain.”

He looks guilty. He doesn’t say _I wanted to apologize to her for my family being the source of her worry,_ but Chloe hears the words all the same. 

She shakes her head. “Dan and I decided not to tell her. She doesn’t need to worry more than she already does.” And then she tilts her head. “Are you hiding another piece of cake for me behind your back?”

Lucifer smiles. “Always detecting, aren’t you?”

“It’s why they pay me the big bucks.”

Lucifer chuckles, and then pulls his other hand out from behind his back to reveal a beautiful bouquet of flowers that makes Chloe’s stomach swoop.

“For you,” he says quietly.

She stares at the bouquet, dumbfounded. “You brought me flowers?” 

“Well I know that you humans believe dying plants are a symbol of remorse,” he says as if he thinks the idea is ridiculous. “I still feel badly about everything that happened with my dastardly twin, and I couldn’t very well bring the urchin a present and not you, so…”

Chloe finally tears her gaze away from the bouquet to look up at him. There’s a hint of uncertainty in his eyes. His body seems tense, almost like he’s waiting for a rejection that he’s certain is going to come. Chloe’s heart squeezes in her chest. She wonders if she’s the first woman he’s ever brought flowers to. 

She crosses the room and takes the bouquet from his hands. He watches her, hope dawning in his eyes as she shifts closer to him and murmurs, “They’re beautiful, Lucifer. I love them. Thank you.”

He exhales as if in relief, and the smile on his lips is so genuinely pleased that she can’t help it—she latches onto his shirt collar with her free hand and tugs him down for a kiss. 

“Well if I’d known all it took was flowers,” he murmurs against her lips.

She smiles. “Shut up and kiss me.”

He chuckles and obliges. He’s a damn good kisser.

She doesn’t mean for it to last. She just wants to tell him that she cares about him in a language he has no problem speaking. But then his hands slide along her hips, and when he pulls her flush against his chest she feels desire flare deep in her body. He holds the curve of her spine in his palm, his thumb stroking over her back, and she drapes the arm that isn’t holding the bouquet around his neck and melts into him. 

She doesn’t hear Trixie’s footsteps on the stairs. Well, she can _hear_ them. She’s not deaf, and Trixie isn’t quiet. But Chloe doesn’t really register what the sound means because Lucifer’s tongue is stroking into her mouth and she wants to...

And then the realization hits her like a ton of bricks, and she shoves Lucifer away from her. He huffs in offense and frowns at her, smoothing his hand over his torso like he’s never been pushed away in his life. He probably hasn’t.

Chloe ignores him and turns toward the hallway, hoping she came to her senses in time. She didn’t. Trixie is standing at the end of the hall with a forkful of chocolate cake halfway to her mouth, which is hanging open in surprise.

“Were you guys _kissing?_ ” she says. It’s the same voice she uses on Christmas morning when she says _Are all these presents for me?_

“No,” Chloe says at the same time Lucifer says, “Yes until we were rudely interrupted.”

Chloe shoots him a look. 

Lucifer adjusts his shirt collar. “What? You know I don’t _lie._ ”

Chloe presses her fingers to her forehead and sighs. 

“I _knew_ it!” Trixie says. 

“You most certainly did not,” Lucifer says.

“I most certainly _did,_ ” Trixie insists. “Dad says you guys have been in love for _ages._ ” Chloe snaps her head up in surprise, and Trixie grins. “He didn’t know I could hear him.”

Chloe sighs again.

“Well, it appears Daniel _does_ have a modicum of observational skill,” Lucifer says. “There’s hope for Detective Douche’s career after all.”

Chloe narrows her eyes at him. “You’re not helping.”

Lucifer frowns. “Was I meant to be helping?”

Chloe swallows yet another sigh and motions Trixie into the bedroom. “Come here, Monkey.”

Trixie flounces into the room and then up onto the bed, cake in hand. Chloe sets her bouquet of flowers on the nightstand and sits on the edge of the mattress next to her daughter. Lucifer steps into the room as well, but he heads for the full length mirror rather than the bed, and proceeds to begin inspecting his reflection. Chloe rolls her eyes and turns toward her daughter. 

“First of all,” she says, reaching out to put her hand on Trixie’s knee, “I want you to know that I love you very much, and there is nothing and nobody that could change that. You are always going to be the most important thing to me. Always. No exceptions.”

“I know,” Trixie says brightly.

“Good,” Chloe says with a smile. “And if there’s ever anything you’re worried about, or confused about, or if you have any questions that you—”

“Mom,” Trixie cuts her off. “I _know._ Get to the good stuff.”

“Right,” Chloe says. “Okay.” 

She casts a look at Lucifer, but he’s completely engrossed in smoothing his eyebrows. She really wishes they’d gotten a chance to talk about this before having this conversation with Trixie. She would’ve liked to be on the same page. Not that she thinks they’re _not_ on the same page. They’re together and official and exclusive. He made that clear. But it’s one thing to say that during a post-orgasm haze. It’s another thing entirely to say it to her daughter. 

“So,” Chloe starts, turning back to Trixie. “You know Lucifer and I have been friends for a while now.”

Trixie nods. “Uh huh.”

“And in that time, we’ve gotten to know each other really well. And we care about each other. A lot.”

Trixie grins. “Uh huh.”

“And we um...we recently decided to…”

Flashes of that night in Lucifer’s penthouse when they finally decided to seal the deal are suddenly bombarding Chloe’s mind, and she’s finding it hard to focus on anything except the memory of Lucifer’s head between her—

“Be boyfriend and girlfriend?” Trixie offers into the silence. 

Chloe glances at Lucifer. He’s now rubbing his fingers over the five o’clock shadow coating his jawline. He seems completely unbothered by her daughter’s use of the terms _boyfriend_ and _girlfriend._ And, again, she’s not surprised. But also...she’s kind of surprised?

“Yes,” Chloe confirms. “That’s...yes. We’re boyfriend and girlfriend.”

Trixie smiles so wide it looks almost painful. “This is _great._ ”

Chloe blinks at her. “It is?”

“Well, _yeah,_ ” Trixie replies. “My mom is the Devil’s girlfriend! This is _way_ cooler than when Emily’s mom started dating that guy from Tik Tok!”

Chloe frowns. “What guy from Tik Tok?”

“Does it matter?” Lucifer asks, spinning to face them. “I’m infinitely more attractive than anyone on that ridiculous platform.” He grins at Trixie. “Feel free to rub it in the faces of all the other sticky-fingered offspring you see at school that your mother is dating the Devil. Make the little miscreants squirm with jealousy.”

“Okay!” Trixie says.

“No,” Chloe says. “No, not okay.”

Lucifer frowns. “Why not?”

“Yeah, Mom, why not?”

“She can’t tell people I’m dating the _Devil,_ ” Chloe says to Lucifer. “Do you know what that sounds like?”

“The truth?” Lucifer says, tilting his head.

“No, Lucifer, it’s not...I mean, it _is_ the truth, but you know people don’t believe you. You know they think you’re just...quirky.”

Lucifer frowns. “I am _not_ quirky. Daniel and his ridiculous stones are quirky. Miss Lopez’s fascination with a fictional species of aliens is quirky. I am the bloody King of Hell. I’m not _quirky._ ”

Trixie turns to Chloe with wide eyes. “Can I tell people you’re dating the King of Hell?”

“Absolutely not,” Chloe says.

Lucifer and Trixie open their mouths in unison to argue with her, but Chloe holds up a hand. “This is non-negotiable,” she says, letting her voice sink into her detective tone. “If she says that to her friends, they’re going to tell their parents and their teachers.”

“So?” Lucifer says.

“So they’re going to start asking questions and digging into our lives. They’re going to want to know why I’m letting my daughter hang out with a guy who claims to be the Devil—”

Lucifer opens his mouth but Chloe keeps talking.

“—and they’re going to think you’re either very ill or very dangerous. CPS has been called for lesser things, and I can’t deal with that. I won’t put her through that.”

Lucifer seems to realize that he’s not going to win this argument, because he presses his lips together and doesn’t argue. 

“What’s CPS?” Trixie wonders. 

“Nothing, baby,” Chloe says. “Just...okay, look. You can tell whoever you want that Lucifer and I are together, okay? But you have to call him by his name.”

“The Devil is my name,” Lucifer says.

Chloe shoots him a look. “No, it’s your title.”

“Well, technically my title is…” He trails off when she narrows her eyes at him. “Right,” he says. “Not relevant at the moment.”

“Why can’t I tell people Lucifer is the Devil?” Trixie asks. “Lucifer tells people all the time.”

“Lucifer is an adult,” Chloe counters. “And when you’re grown up, you can say whatever you want just like he does. But for right now, we need to keep the Devil thing private. It’s nobody else’s business. All right?”

Trixie looks disappointed. “All right.”

“Don’t worry, child,” Lucifer says. “If I ever meet any of your little brethren, you can rest assured I will tell them for you.”

Trixie beams. 

Chloe narrows her eyes at Lucifer. “Do you have to be you right now?” 

“I’m an adult who is permitted to say whatever I please,” he points out, lifting his chin defiantly. “You said so yourself.”

Chloe rolls her eyes and turns back to her daughter. “So you’re okay with this?”

“Yep,” Trixie says. And then she tilts her head. “Does this mean Lucifer is going to sleep over sometimes?”

“Would that be okay with you?”

Trixie casts a glance at Lucifer. “Is he going to make breakfast?”

“Well of course,” Lucifer says. He leers at Chloe. “I have a feeling your mother and I will have worked up quite an appetite by dawn.”

“Lucifer,” Chloe hisses. 

Lucifer doesn’t look even remotely apologetic. Trixie, meanwhile, looks confused. “Does kissing make you hungry?” she wonders.

Chloe has no idea how to answer that question, but she doesn’t have to. 

“Chlo?” Dan’s voice calls from downstairs. “Trix? You guys here?”

“Go tell Daddy we’ll be down in a minute,” Chloe says, ushering her daughter toward the door. 

Trixie scrambles off the bed and bounds for the door. Chloe gets to her feet. She’s opening her mouth to ask Lucifer if he could tone down his leering innuendos just a little bit in front of Trixie, but Lucifer holds up his index finger. 

“May I make a wardrobe suggestion?”

“I’m not wearing that dress, Lucifer.”

“Of course not.” He grins at her. “The only man you’re wearing that dress for is me.”

“Lucifer,” she sighs, but she can’t help but smile a little. 

Lucifer’s grin softens. “You were having a hard time deciding what to wear to dinner with my distant dad and angsty angel brothers, correct?”

“Well, yeah. What the hell are you supposed to wear to meet _God?_ ” 

“One moment please,” Lucifer says, and then ducks into her closet.

Chloe puts her hands on her hips and tilts her head back to look at the ceiling. There’s no way he’s going to pick something appropriate. He’s going to pull out another one of her dresses, or maybe one of her blazers and suggest that she forego the blouse underneath the way she did for that Top Meet mixer. 

“Please tell me you’re not talking to Dad.”

Chloe lowers her head. “Of course not. I…” She trails off when she spots what he’s holding. It’s a black, long-sleeved blouse with white piping along the buttons in the front, the cuffs, and the left chest pocket. She loves that blouse.

“Oh,” she says.

“One of your favorites, correct?” Lucifer says. “Very flattering but also very comfortable. The black makes your complexion stand out. And you needn’t change the jeans or boots you currently have on, which I believe are also your favorite.”

Chloe nods. “Yeah, I...yeah. They are.”

Lucifer smiles. “Excellent.” He hangs the blouse on the closet door. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to go bury the hatchet in Daniel while you change.”

Chloe nods. “Okay.” 

Lucifer disappears from the room. A beat passes, and then Chloe realizes what he said. 

“Wait, _in?_ ” she calls after him. She bolts toward the door. “No violence in front of my kid, Lucifer!”

* * *

Chloe’s first clue that Lucifer is far more nervous about tonight than he’s letting on is that he doesn’t speed on the way to Linda’s. 

She doesn’t notice at first. She’s nervous too, and she’s replaying her conversation with Trixie over and over again in her mind to make sure she handled it well and didn’t leave anything out. Besides, she learned a long time ago that it’s better to ignore Lucifer’s driving if she doesn’t want to give herself an ulcer. 

When Lucifer slows to a stop at a yellow light instead of gunning through it, though, she notices.

She looks across the center console at him. He’s completely still. No drumming his fingers, no bobbing his head along with the radio, no reaching for his flask. He’s always so busy that it’s unsettling. Like staring at someone who’s suddenly been turned into stone. 

A man in a very loud, very ill-fitting powder blue suit strides through the crosswalk in front of the car. Lucifer’s eyes rest briefly on the man, but he makes no remark. That’s when Chloe starts to worry.

“Lucifer?”

He turns his head toward her, but keeps his eyes forward. “Hm?”

“Are you all right?”

“Yes, of course.”

“You don’t seem all right.”

He finally glances at her. He must be able to see the concern in her eyes, because he finally reanimates. He smiles. “I’m with my favorite human,” he purrs, setting his hand on her knee. “I have no complaints. You look beautiful, by the way.”

Chloe’s stomach swoops. For someone who’s spent a good chunk of their partnership throwing every sexual innuendo in the book at her, he can be very innocently sweet when he wants to be. 

“That’s sweet,” Chloe says, covering his hand with hers. “But I think you’re lying.”

The smile drops off his face, and even if she didn’t know him as well as she does, she’d know he’s offended. “I don’t _lie._ ”

“Fine,” she says, squeezing his hand. She reaches her other hand out and traces her fingers over the side of his face. “You’re strategically telling the truth then.”

The offense seems to deflate right out of him at her touch. He leans into her hand, his eyes closing briefly. She strokes her fingertips over his stubble. He opens his mouth, and she thinks he’s about to tell her how he’s feeling about family dinner, but she’ll never know. The earsplitting sound of a car horn shatters the moment.

She jumps in her seat, startled. Lucifer exhales a growl and shoots a look over his shoulder at the car behind them, his eyes glowing red. Chloe follows his gaze.

“It’s _green!_ ” some asshole in a bright yellow Porsche screams. 

“Does he know this isn’t the only lane?” Chloe wonders.

Lucifer reaches for the door handle. “Someone should teach him some manners.”

“Not you,” Chloe says, curling her fingers around his bicep. The last thing she needs right now is a Devil tantrum caught on traffic cameras. “Just drive.”

“Detective—”

“I got this,” she cuts him off. “We’re going to be late. Drive.”

Lucifer scowls but does as he’s told. Chloe pulls her phone out, finds a familiar name in her contacts, presses the screen, and then lifts her phone to her ear. It rings twice, and then a gruff voice on the other end says, “Jackson.”

“Hey Jax,” Chloe greets. “It’s—”

“Hollywood. I’d know that movie star voice anywhere.”

Chloe grins. “How’ve you been?”

“Living the dream.”

“I’m glad to hear it.”

“Don’t be. Nightmares are dreams too. I’m good though. You good?”

“I’m good.”

“Trix?”

“She’s great. I’m sure she’d love to see you.”

“Feeling’s mutual. I’ll shoot you a text on my next day off. You still got that sleazy guy as a partner?”

Chloe glances at Lucifer. His perfectly coiffed hair is ruffling slightly in the wind as he drives, which means he’s speeding again. She glances at the speedometer. Yep. He’s speeding. He’s also glaring at the rearview mirror. Chloe glances at the mirror on her side of the car and realizes that the asshole in the Porsche is tailgating them.

“Yes,” she tells Jax. “But he’s not sleazy.”

“I’ll take your word for it. But I don’t think you’re calling me at seven on a Saturday night to catch up. What do you need, kid?”

“You still know people in traffic enforcement?”

“I know people everywhere. You got a plate number for me?”

“I sure do. One sec.” She glances at Lucifer. “Slow down.”

He frowns. “What?”

“Trust me. Slow down.”

Lucifer sighs dramatically but slows down. The guy in the yellow Porsche lays on the horn and continues to tailgate them.

“You better have a bloody good reason for subjecting me to this twat,” Lucifer snarls. He shoots her a look. “You owe me.”

“I’m sure I can think of a way to pay my debt,” Chloe says innocently. 

Lucifer arches an eyebrow at her. 

“You heard me,” she says, unable to hide a grin.

Lucifer’s eyes glitter with desire. “I certainly did.”

Tires squeal behind them, and then the yellow Porsche zooms around Lucifer’s car. 

“Asshole!” the driver shouts, waving his middle finger wildly as he passes. 

Lucifer’s eyes flare red. Chloe traces her index finger around the shell of his ear and watches the Porsche, waiting for it to cut them off. It does, and she gets a clear view of the license plate.

“7XY P290,” she says into her phone. “Yellow Porsche. Headed north on Western Avenue, driving erratically and at least fifteen over. And I’m betting…” She trails off. Sure enough, the yellow Porsche zooms through a yellow light, but the driver isn’t quite fast enough—it’s still red when he’s only halfway through. “Just ran a yellow too late. Was still in the intersection when it was red.” 

“Well how lucky for the citizens of California that you were there to witness his reckless driving,” Jackson says dryly. 

Chloe grins. “Just doing my duty. Can you…?”

“I’ll call as soon as you hang up. It’ll be taken care of by tomorrow morning.”

“Thanks, Jax.”

“Anything for you, Hollywood.”

Chloe smiles again and hangs up. Lucifer slows to a stop at the light the Porsche ran through. 

“Who was that?”

“David Jackson,” Chloe replies. “He was my training officer. And a friend of my dad’s. He requested to train me, actually. Because of my dad.”

Lucifer nods. Silence descends between them for a moment, and then he says in a voice that she thinks is supposed to sound casual but definitely does not, “So he was your first partner.”

Chloe tilts her head. “Yeah, I guess so.”

Lucifer drums his fingers on the steering wheel. Another silence descends. He wraps his long fingers around the steering wheel, and his knuckles go white as he squeezes it. Chloe is opening her mouth to ask him what’s wrong when he says, “In how many ways?”

Chloe frowns. “What?”

Lucifer looks at her. “You said he was your partner. I asked in how many—”

“I heard what you said.”

“Then why ask again? Are you sure you don’t have a—”

“If you say concussion I’m going to strangle you.”

He blinks at her for a second, and then his lips smooth into a predatory grin that sends a wave of heat through her veins. “Oh, _very_ naughty, Detective. You should know I’m not opposed to a little autoerotic asphyxiation in the bedroom. Or restraints, if you prefer.”

Chloe crinkles her nose. 

“Oh, come now. You’ve never used your handcuffs for something more interesting than arresting a murderer?”

“Um, _no._ Have you...you know what, don’t answer that. I don’t want to know. The light is green.”

Lucifer hits the gas and the car roars into the intersection. 

“You never answered my question,” Lucifer points out. “Now who’s strategically telling the truth?”

“There’s nothing to tell,” Chloe says, rolling her eyes. “He was friends with my _dad,_ Lucifer. He’s, like, twice my age.”

“You’ve expressed interest in older men before.”

Chloe gives him an incredulous look. “When?”

“Pierce was immortal.”

“Pierce was also a lying psychopath, and I had no idea he was immortal so I don’t think that counts.”

“What about me?”

“You’re the world’s oldest teenage boy. You might be a hundred billion years old but I think I’m more mature than you.”

“I _beg_ your pardon,” Lucifer says. “I am _not_ a hundred billion years old.”

“Two hundred billion?”

Lucifer looks like he’s going to have a stroke he’s sputtering so hard. Chloe laughs. 

“Relax, old man,” she says, setting her hand on his thigh. “You’re like a fine wine. Better with age.”

Lucifer scowls at her. “Are you going to answer the question or not?” 

“Jax knows everybody,” Chloe says. “And I mean _everybody._ Including a ton of people at the traffic center. They’ll track down the asshole in the yellow Porsche and make him pay. Via human laws, but still.”

“So you and,” Lucifer screws up his face in distaste, “ _Jax_ never…?”

Chloe sighs. “No, Lucifer. He was my training officer. He walked me down the aisle at my wedding. He’s like...it’s like you and Ella. Would you sleep with Ella?”

Lucifer looks horrified. “I absolutely would not.”

“Well, then, there’s your answer.”

Lucifer seems to consider her words for a moment. And then he covers her hand—which is still on his thigh—with his and smiles. 

Chloe smiles too. 

They hold hands the rest of the way to Linda’s. Chloe can tell that he’s still unsettled, but he seems better than he was before. When they get out of the car and he meets her on the sidewalk leading up to Linda’s house, she reaches for his hand again. He seems to relax when she touches him, and she still remembers what he said in the evidence room earlier. _I find your presence soothing._ She has a feeling he’s going to need to be soothed a lot tonight. 

She starts up the walk, but he uses her hand to tug her back against his chest and kiss her. She’s surprised, but she likes kissing him far too much not to melt into him almost immediately. It’s a long, lingering, back-arching kiss. When he finally lets her go, she feels a little short of breath. 

“What was that for?” she murmurs.

He grins. “I desired it.”

Chloe can _feel_ herself flushing. “Come on,” she says, tugging him toward the house by his hand. “We’re late.”

He falls in step next to her, smiling down at her. She glances up at him and smiles too. They stop on the front porch, and Lucifer is reaching for the door handle when the door swings open with a creak. 

Linda is standing framed in the doorway, and even though she’s dressed just as impeccably as ever, she looks unmistakably frazzled. 

“ _Finally,_ ” she groans. And then she launches herself at Chloe, her arms wrapping like a vise around Chloe’s neck. 

Chloe takes a step back from the force of the hug, and Lucifer’s hand presses against her back to steady her. 

“Oh,” she says in surprise. “Um. Ok?” 

She looks at Lucifer over Linda’s shoulder. Lucifer looks just as mystified as she feels. 

“Hi Linda,” Chloe says, patting the doctor on the back. “Nice to see you too.”

“Do I not get a hug?” Lucifer says with furrowed brows. 

“You don’t even _like_ hugs,” Chloe points out.

Lucifer looks offended. “Well I’d like the _option,_ Detective.”

“I’m so glad you’re here,” Linda breathes into Chloe’s shoulder.

Chloe frowns. “What’s wrong?”

Linda leans back. Her eyes are wide and wild behind her glasses. “God is in my house,” she whispers. “ _God,_ Chloe.”

“Is he still wearing that ridiculous cardigan?” Lucifer asks, curling his lip in disgust. “I sincerely hope not. My eyes can’t take such a travesty.”

Chloe shoots him a look that says _Hush_ and then turns back to Linda. “You’re feeling a little overwhelmed?”

“ _God,_ ” Linda hisses in response. 

Lucifer sighs. “Oh for Dad’s sake, Doctor. He isn’t worth all this. It’s no different than having me in your house. Except I’m infinitely more attractive and a far better dinner companion.”

“It’s _very_ different,” Linda snaps, whirling around to face Lucifer. “He is the god of _all creation,_ Lucifer, and I’m just a human. The last time I angered a god…”

She trails off. She’s wringing her hands in front of her and rocking back and forth a little, and Chloe realizes what’s going on.

“Oh, Linda,” she breathes, reaching out to put her hand on the doctor’s shoulder. “You’re thinking about what happened with Charlotte, aren’t you? Well, goddess Charlotte. Not our Charlotte.”

Linda doesn’t confirm Chloe’s assumption, but her face says it all.

Lucifer frowns. “What the bloody hell does Mum...” His frown smooths out. “Oh.”

Chloe opens her mouth, ready to at least attempt to soothe Linda, but Lucifer beats her to it. 

“Doctor,” he says, his voice dropping low. He puts his hands on her shoulders. “You have my word that my dad will not harm you in any manner. As long as you live and breathe, you are under my protection. And Dad doesn’t harm humans anyway. He’s much too proud he created you to destroy you. All right?”

Linda nods. 

Lucifer offers her a kind smile. “Then let’s go have dinner with Daddy Dearest, shall we? You’re mere moments away from _years_ of new material to needle me with in our sessions.”

Linda smiles weakly. She takes a deep, shuddering breath, and then straightens her shoulders. “Okay. Let’s do this.” She turns on her heel and marches back into the house with her head held high. 

Lucifer motions for Chloe to enter after Linda, but Chloe doesn’t move. Lucifer frowns. “Detective?”

She steps into his space, rises up on her toes, and kisses him on the cheek. When she drops back down to her feet, he looks confused. 

“What was that for?”

“Because I desired it,” she says. “And because you’re a good man.”

“Well, technically, I’m not a man. I’m—”

She covers his mouth with her hand. “Don’t ruin the moment.” 

He grins against her palm. She grins back. He curls his fingers around her wrist and pulls her hand down from his mouth. “I don’t suppose you’d be interested in ducking into one of the doctor’s spare rooms and—”

“Absolutely not,” she cuts him off. But she laughs as she says it, and his smile makes her heart skip a few beats.

“Well then let’s get this over with,” he says. “The sooner I have you all to myself the better. I was promised payment and I intend to collect.”

Chloe rolls her eyes. She reaches for his hand again, and then leads him through the door. As he shuts it behind them, she looks out over the house from the raised entryway. Linda is disappearing into the kitchen, her blonde head bobbing as her heels click on the floor. And standing in the middle of the living room is…

God. 

He’s not what Chloe expected. 

To be fair, she’s not sure _what_ she expected. In the early days of her partnership with Lucifer, he would talk about his father and she’d imagine an older, smarmier, slightly overweight version of Lucifer. At some point after that case when Lucifer checked himself into a mental hospital, she started picturing him as God Johnson. Ever since she found out the truth though—the whole God, angels, and demons are real and she’s in love with the _actual_ Devil thing—she’s had this weird amalgamation living in her head. In her mind, God looks a little like Lucifer but he’s the strong and silent type like Amenadiel. He has a southern drawl like God Johnson, but he’s youthful and smiling like the Jesus she’s seen in paintings and stained glass windows.

God in reality, though, is nothing like that. He’s dark skinned and his facial hair is a distinguished looking silver. He’s wearing a cranberry colored sweater that makes him look grandfatherly, or maybe like a tenured professor in some insufferably boring subject. He’s standing over Charlie’s playpen and next to Amenadiel. Chloe is immediately struck by the resemblance between them. Not physically. It’s just...a feeling. They have a similar presence. Calming and steady.

She doesn’t get to dwell on the feeling, though, because Lucifer has gone as taut as a bowstring next to her. His hand has stiffened in hers, and when she glances up at him, she doesn’t think he’s breathing. His jaw is clenched, and his face has gone ashen. He’s staring at his father like he’s seen a ghost. 

She doesn’t know what to say to ease his discomfort. She doesn’t think there’s anything she _can_ say. So she reaches her free hand out and presses it against the back of his so that she’s holding his hand in both of hers. 

“Lucifer,” she murmurs, tracing her thumb over his knuckles. 

He looks down at her. His gaze is glassy and unfocused. She squeezes his hand.

“I’m right here.”

His gaze comes into focus. He studies her for a moment, and then he smiles. _There you are,_ she thinks.

“Luci,” Amenadiel calls happily before either of them can say anything else. 

Lucifer gazes at Chloe for another moment, like he’s not quite ready to break eye contact, and then he looks away. “Hello brother.”

Amenadiel smiles. “Hello Chloe.”

“Hey Amenadiel.”

“No Trixie?” Amenadiel asks.

Chloe frowns. She didn’t realize Trixie had been invited. She glances up at Lucifer, a question on her lips, but Lucifer doesn’t look at her.

“I’m afraid not,” he says as he guides her down the stairs. “She and Daniel had big plans tonight. Something about a Disney princess sing-along. I shudder to think that Daniel may end up in a tutu singing _Let It Go._ Now _there’s_ a hell loop I’ve no desire to be stuck in.”

Chloe snorts. Lucifer smiles down at her as he steps off the final stair, pleased by her amusement. Amenadiel and his father cross the room. 

“Good evening, Samael,” Lucifer’s father says in a deep voice.

Lucifer goes rigid again. “Don’t call me that,” he snarls in a voice that’s drenched with hatred.

Chloe looks up at him in surprise. He doesn’t return her gaze.

His father ducks his head. “My apologies. You prefer that I use your chosen name. I will honor that wish, though you know it pains me.”

“Yes, you’ve made your disapproval quite clear,” Lucifer replies tightly. He turns toward Chloe. “Detective, this is my father.” He glances at his dad. “Dad, this is my Detective.”

Chloe notices his emphasis on _my_ but doesn’t comment on it. She holds her hand out. 

“You can call me Chloe,” she says, trying to be friendly. And then she realizes she just offered to shake hands with God, and her stomach drops. “Sorry,” she says, yanking her hand back. “I wasn’t trying to be disrespectful.”

Lucifer’s father smiles. “There’s nothing disrespectful about offering a greeting that’s customary to your culture.” He holds his hand out. “It is an honor to meet you, Chloe. You may call me John.”

Chloe shakes his hand. His skin is warm. Like, _really_ warm. Not in a hot, gross way. More like how the sun feels on a chilly day. All of a sudden she feels like she’s finally found warmth after spending too much time in the cold, and she’s not sure how she ever lived without it. 

She drops his hand like he’s burned her and leans closer to Lucifer. The feeling fades.

“John?” Lucifer repeats with a hint of disdain in his voice. 

Amenadiel puts his hand on his father’s shoulder. “He’ll be John Smith while he’s on earth. It’s one of the most common human names, so he won’t draw attention.”

“Wouldn’t want that, would we?” Lucifer says snidely.

Chloe elbows him in the ribs. “How long will you be staying, John?”

“I’m not quite sure yet,” John replies. “As long as it takes.”

“As long as it takes to _what?_ ” Lucifer asks.

But John doesn’t get a chance to answer. The front door swings open with a creak, and they all turn toward the sound.

Michael is standing in the doorway. He scans the room, and when his gaze lands on Chloe, he grins. She feels her stomach drop straight down to her feet.

He winks at her. “Well look who came to dinner.” 


	3. Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for the comments, guys. Very kind of you :) I’m going to try to get better at carving out some time to respond to them because I so appreciate y’all taking the time to leave them. 
> 
> Now, a gentle reminder: I told y’all in the summary that there’d be some angst, and it starts in this chapter. I’ll just go ahead and warn you now that there will be plenty of it throughout this fic. But before you get too angsty about the angst, just remember that I also said fluff and shameless amounts of Deckerstar, so there’s that. Also I promise everyone will get their happy ending...eventually.

The moment Michael walks in the door, it feels like all the air has been sucked out of the room. 

Chloe has never been one to feel unsettled by people, no matter how dangerous they are. She’s a cop, after all, and a damn good one at that. Michael isn’t the first person who’s held her against her will, and he’s definitely not the first asshole who tried to get in her head. She knows how to handle guys like him. But when he walks in the door and winks at her like they have some inside joke, she feels nauseous. 

Then her instincts kick in. She straightens, and her hand moves toward her hip even though her gun is in her purse. She meets Michael’s gaze without flinching or blinking, and as he leers at her, she glares at him. 

“Miss me?” he asks her. 

“Like I miss having the flu,” she retorts. 

Lucifer, who was standing ramrod straight next to her like he was preparing for a fight, turns to look at her with a grin. “Oh well _done,_ Detective. I assume you chose the flu because his presence makes you want to vomit uncontrollably?”

Chloe smirks. “That would be a correct assumption.”

Lucifer laughs delightedly and looks over his shoulder at his father. “Isn’t she incredible?”

“All right,” Amenadiel says in that voice he uses when he’s trying to keep the peace. “Let’s try to keep the insults to a minimum this evening.”

“Why on _earth_ would we do that?” Lucifer asks, turning to face Amenadiel with a scandalized look. “If you expect me to sit silently through dinner with the psychotic git who kidnapped my girlfriend, you’re a bloody fool.”

“Sam—Lucifer,” John says. “I understand your frustration.”

“Oh _do_ you?” Lucifer says. He runs his hand along the small of Chloe’s back. “Well would you look at that, Detective. Your first celestial family gathering and you’ve already witnessed a miracle.”

John seems unbothered by Lucifer’s snark. He turns his gaze toward the front door. “Michael?” he prompts, his eyebrows raised.

Michael clears his throat. “I’d like to apologize, Lucifer.” 

Chloe’s mouth falls open.

“You want to do _what?_ ” Lucifer says incredulously. 

“I didn’t mean to cause any trouble,” Michael continues, hanging his head. “I never planned to hurt the Detective and I’m deeply sorry if I made either of you think otherwise. I just wanted to talk.”

Chloe feels her temper flare. She’s seen enough grief and remorse in her line of work to know when it’s real. And this? This is the most bullshit apology she’s ever witnessed. 

“So you came into my house uninvited, knocked me unconscious, and stuck me in a cage because you wanted to _talk_ to me?” she asks. 

Michael smirks. “You’re a sparkling conversationalist, Detective, but no. I wanted to speak with my brother and I knew he wouldn’t listen. So I found something that would make him listen.”

“So I was a pawn,” Chloe says. 

“A pretty one,” Michael replies with a leer. 

Lucifer growls—literally _growls_ —at his brother, and when Chloe glances up at him, she sees that his eyes are red and his face is starting to flicker toward its true form. He starts forward. 

“Lucifer, no,” she murmurs, pressing her hand against his chest to stop him. 

She knows that if he wanted to, he could easily brush her aside and go after Michael. But he pauses. “He must be punished, Detective.”

“Yeah, for once I don’t disagree with you,” she says. “But I don’t think Linda needs an angelic brawl in her living room right now.”

Michael presses his hands together as if he’s praying. “Please, brother. Forgive me. I was wrong.”

Lucifer clenches his jaw. His hands are in fists at his sides. “He’s lying.”

_No shit,_ Chloe wants to say. But she’d rather not curse in front of God, even if he does look like an aged librarian who enjoys dusty books and a pipe. 

“Lucifer,” she murmurs. “Look at me.”

He obeys.

“Not tonight, okay?” she says. 

His face flickers again toward its true form. She doesn’t flinch. She doesn’t look away from him. She keeps one hand over his heart, and the other wrapped around his forearm, and waits for him. 

Eventually, he exhales and nods. “As you wish, Detective,” he says, rolling his shoulders and then straightening.

Michael grins. “Thanks for the forgiveness, bro.”

“He didn’t say he forgives you,” Chloe snaps. “And I suggest you wipe that grin off your face before I do it for you.”

Lucifer laughs, admiration clear in his eyes. Michael’s grin fades. His eyes flash, and Chloe thinks, _Go ahead. Try it and see what happens._

“Who’s ready for dinner?” Linda’s voice calls cheerily from the kitchen. 

Lucifer turns toward her. “That depends. Is there alcohol?”

* * *

Dinner with God is...weird.

It’s _so_ weird. 

Chloe can’t put her finger on _why_ it’s so weird. Maybe it’s because she can’t quite reconcile the absentee father she’s heard so much about with the kind, albeit slightly awkward, man at the head of the table who seems fascinated by Amenadiel and Linda’s stories about Charlie. Maybe it’s that Michael and Lucifer are shooting each other looks from across the table, and Chloe is certain that at some point before the night is over, she’s going to have to break up a fight. Maybe it’s just that she’s one of only two humans in the house, and if someone had told her a few years ago that she would one day be eating dinner with a trio of angels and God, she’d have had them committed. 

It could also be the two glasses of wine she’s had. She holds her alcohol pretty well now, thanks to all her nights partying with Maze, and she’s not even tipsy yet. But it wouldn’t be the worst idea in the world for her to stop drinking before she tilts into her I-feel-like-I’m-floating zone. 

As if on cue, Lucifer starts to refill her glass. She opens her mouth to tell him no, but decides against it. She doesn’t have to drink it. He’ll do it for her if she leaves it sitting there long enough. 

“So,” John says from the head of the table. “Chloe.”

“Yes,” she says, looking away from her glass. 

He smiles. “I hear you’re very good at your job.”

“I hardly think _very good_ covers it,” Lucifer sniffs from his seat on Chloe’s right. “She’s the best there is.”

Chloe chews her lip around a smile. “I don’t know if I’d say the best.”

“You needn’t say it, darling. I said it for you and I don’t lie. There’s no one better.”

“Really?” Michael says. “ _No_ one?”

Lucifer glares at him from across the table. 

“I assisted on a case of hers recently,” Amenadiel interrupts, ever the peacemaker. He leans forward, his eyes fixed on his father. “Luci is right. She is very good, Father.”

“Well you were a big help,” Chloe points out. She turns toward John. “And Lucifer, too. I wouldn’t have solved half the cases I have without him. He’s great.”

Lucifer’s chest puffs out a little. He smiles at Chloe. “We do make quite a team.”

“The best team,” Chloe confirms, bumping her shoulder against his.

“Aw,” Linda says.

“Adorable,” Michael mutters into his wine glass. 

Lucifer glares at him again.

“You should tell us all about one of your cases,” Linda suggests. “Maybe a tricky one that required you to work together?”

“Ah,” Lucifer says, setting his whiskey glass on the table with a thunk. “I know just the one.”

And then he launches into a detailed summary of the Wobble case that started with a charred crotch. Chloe was present for most of the events he’s referring to, but she finds herself enraptured anyway. He’s a hell of a storyteller, and he’s got a remarkable memory. It’s absurd how many details he can remember. She makes a mental note to harass him later for refusing to help her write reports when he clearly remembers just as much, if not more, than she does. 

“And that’s how the Detective and I caught the killer _and_ prevented another death,” Lucifer finishes, reaching for his glass. He winks at her. “Best team in the business.”

“Are you sure?” Michael asks. “Seems to me the Detective could have solved the crime just fine without you. She basically did, since you were so obsessed with your own issues.”

The smile drops off Lucifer’s face. “And how many crimes have you solved? Oh, that’s right. You prefer _committing_ them.”

“Well that’s a little hypocritical, don’t you think?” Michael replies. 

“Who’s ready for dessert?” Linda interrupts, shooting to her feet. “I’ve got pie.”

“I love pie,” Chloe says. She elbows Lucifer. “You like pie.”

“Pie is great,” Amenadiel says. “Wait until you try pie, Father.” 

Michael sits back in his chair with a sneer, but he doesn’t say anything else. Neither does Lucifer. For a moment, at least, there’s peace.

“Amenadiel, can you grab everyone’s plate?” Linda asks.

“Of course.” 

Amenadiel stands and begins collecting plates. Linda bolts for the kitchen. Chloe watches her go longingly. She should’ve offered to help get the pie so she could get away from Michael’s smirk for a few minutes. She reaches for her wine glass. Maybe she’ll drink it after all. 

“Chloe,” John says, leaning forward after Amenadiel removes his plate. “I hear you have a daughter.”

“I do,” Chloe confirms. “She’s ten years old going on twenty-five.”

John smiles. “Does she wish to follow in your footsteps?”

“You mean be a cop?”

John nods.

Chloe snorts. “No. She wants to be the first president of Mars. Or a forensic scientist. Or maybe an artist. That’s this week, though. Next week she might decide she wants to be a mime. Or a rocket scientist. Or both.”

John smiles. “Quite the ambitious child you have.”

“Yes,” Lucifer agrees before Chloe can. “The Detective does an excellent job of nurturing her curiosity and giving her the space to form her own opinions and identity. Beatrice is very fortunate. Her mother loves her unconditionally whether she chooses to be a mime or the president of Mars.”

The words are about as subtle as a bat to the face. So far John has seemed immune to sarcasm and innuendo, but Chloe can tell that he’s picked up on Lucifer’s subtext this time because his smile fades a little. She almost feels bad for him. 

Almost. 

“She also loves Lucifer,” Chloe says, trying to get them back to neutral ground. “She’s drawn him enough pictures to fill a storage unit, which is a pretty big honor in Trixie’s book.”

“Yeah, who wouldn’t want a storage unit full of kid scribbles?” Michael says. 

Chloe glares at him. She wishes she could shoot him again and wipe that smirk off his face. He sneers at her like he knows what she’s thinking. Lucifer shifts next to her, and then Michael winces and breaks eye contact. Lucifer looks smug, and Chloe realizes he just kicked his brother under the table. 

She presses her lips together around a smile and slides her hand over Lucifer’s knee beneath the table. Lucifer weaves his fingers through hers. 

John is either unaware of what’s happening or he doesn’t care. “Children are wonderful beings,” he says almost wistfully. “They love so deeply and fiercely. That kind of love can inspire miracles.”

Lucifer scoffs. “If only all miracles came from such pure intentions.”

“Okay,” Linda says brightly, appearing with a pie in each hand. “We have apple with vanilla ice cream and chocolate mousse.” She sets the chocolate pie down next to Lucifer. “Your sons are very fond of chocolate,” she tells John with a smile. “I have a feeling you will be too.”

Lucifer tugs the pie toward himself. “Don’t waste your breath, Doctor. This is far too sweet for him. He prefers things that are bitter.” 

Linda shoots a pleading look at Chloe. 

“Hey,” Chloe says, reaching over to yank the chocolate pie away from Lucifer. “I might want some of that.”

Lucifer smirks at her. “We could take it back to the penthouse and eat it off each other if you’d like.”

Chloe feels her face flush immediately. “ _Lucifer._ ”

Lucifer’s smirk deepens. “You’re still very adorable when you’re flustered, you know.”

“Okay,” Chloe says, trying to avoid looking at John. “Let’s just...let’s keep private things private, all right?” She looks at Linda. “Do you—”

Linda holds up a knife. “Yep. Feel free to stab him if you’d like, but try to keep his blood off the pie.”

“Oh, haven’t you heard?” Lucifer says, turning toward Linda. “I’m invulnerable around the Detective again!”

Linda lifts her eyebrows. “You are?”

“I am,” Lucifer replies happily. 

Linda glances at Chloe. “That’s...interesting.”

“Mhmm,” Chloe says, focusing on the pie. 

There’s a beat of silence in the room as she starts cutting the pie. She’s sure if she looked up, she’d see Linda and Lucifer exchanging a look. She doesn’t look up. 

“Detective,” Lucifer says softly.

She ignores him. “Who wants chocolate?” she says instead. She is _not_ having this conversation in front of all these people.

“Would it be possible to have one of each?” John asks. 

Chloe glances up at him in surprise. His eyes are fixed on Linda, and he looks...hopeful. As if he’s genuinely asking. He’s God, and he’s asking Linda for permission to have two slices of pie. 

“Of course,” Linda says.

He beams. Chloe blinks at him for a moment, taken aback, and then she forces herself to look away. It’s rude to stare. 

Linda cuts the apple pie while Chloe busies herself with the chocolate one. Amenadiel starts explaining all the desserts he’d like his father to try, and Chloe lets her mind wander as he waxes poetic about ice cream. She can feel Lucifer next to her, solid and warm and familiar, and she knows he’s looking at her even without lifting her gaze. She can smell his cologne, and the impulse to bury her face in his shoulder and breathe him in throbs in her chest. She ignores it. 

When she slides a plate of chocolate pie in front of him, he catches her wrist before she can pull her hand away. She glances up at him. 

“Thank you,” he says. And then he gives her that little half smile he’s given her since their first case together, and she feels like melting into a puddle on the floor.

“Sure,” she says instead, and turns back to the pie. 

Eventually, Amenadiel runs out of desserts to discuss. An awkward silence ensues. Chloe glances at Linda. Linda lifts her shoulder as if to say _Don’t look at me, I don’t know what to say._ Chloe doesn’t either, so she looks back down at her pie. 

“I’d like to discuss something over dessert, if that’s all right,” John says into the silence.

“Is it the reason behind this bloody charade?” Lucifer asks, stabbing his fork into his pie with far more force than necessary. “After hours of horrible small talk you’re finally going to spill the beans on your big announcement?”

“Actually, I think we need to discuss a few things before I make my announcement,” John says. “Clear the air.”

Chloe chokes on her pie.

“What?” Amenadiel says.

“Yes, _what?_ ” Lucifer echoes. 

“I think it best if we air our grievances before we discuss what’s brought me here,” John rephrases. 

Everyone at the table gapes at him. He smiles benignly at them, eating his pie as if he just said _I think it’s going to rain this week_ and not _I think we should all say what we hate about each other._

Chloe glances at Lucifer. He’s pale and suddenly silent. She glances at Linda next, hoping that her chosen career might prompt her to point out what a colossally bad idea this is, but Linda doesn’t say a word. 

“Father,” Michael says in a voice dripping in flattery. “Don’t you think—”

Chloe takes advantage of the distraction and leans toward Linda, who is sitting on her left. “This seems like a bad idea,” she whispers.

“You think?” Linda whispers back.

“Aren’t you going to say anything?”

“What am I supposed to do, tell _God_ he’s doing it wrong?”

Chloe sighs and leans away.

“I know what I’m doing,” John says to Michael. It’s a clear dismissal, and Michael glowers as a result.

“Amenadiel,” John says, glancing down the table. “You have always been the most measured of my sons.”

“That’s an obnoxious way of saying you’re boring,” Lucifer says. 

Amenadiel purses his lips. “Yes, thank you, Luci.”

“Would you like to begin?” John says, ignoring Lucifer. “I believe you will set a positive example.”

Chloe watches as Amenadiel’s chest puffs out a little. It’s cute, for a second, until it’s not. Chloe hates the way he seems to hang on every affirmation he gets—or doesn’t get—from his father. Amenadiel is kind and gentle and loyal and good. He shouldn’t be so starved for approval from his father that being called a _positive example_ is the equivalent of the highest compliment. Also, why the hell isn’t _God_ setting the example? Why do his sons have to do what he should be doing?

“All right,” Amenadiel says. He straightens in his chair. “Lucifer, I’ll start with you.”

“Lucky me,” Lucifer quips. He’s stabbing his pie again. It looks like the dessert equivalent of a murder scene.

A soft smile spreads over Amenadiel’s lips. “We haven’t always seen eye to eye.”

Lucifer snorts.

“But lately, we seem to have found some common ground,” Amenadiel continues. “And I say this now with no reservations: You’re a good man, Luci. What you did for Charlie and the rest of us a few months ago was noble and self-sacrificing, and I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to express my gratitude.”

Chloe glances at Lucifer. He looks stunned. 

“I’ve enjoyed our recent closeness,” Amenadiel says, still smiling. “And I look forward to many more years of it. It’s an honor to walk this earth with you, brother.”

Lucifer looks genuinely touched, and Chloe’s heart warms in her chest.

“That’s not a grievance,” Michael points out petulantly.

“Shut up,” Chloe snaps at him before she can stop herself. “It’s not your turn.”

Michael casts a glance at his father, but John doesn’t come to his defense. Chloe turns her gaze back to Lucifer. 

Lucifer clears his throat and shifts in his seat. “Thank you,” he says quietly. 

Amenadiel nods. “You’re welcome.” He glances at Michael. “As for you, I think you could learn a thing or two from our brother.”

Chloe grins.

“From _him?_ ” Michael sputters.

“Well, this might just be my favorite family dinner ever,” Lucifer says, reaching for his whiskey glass.

“You have _got_ to be kidding me,” Michael says. “He’s the Lord of Hell. If anyone should understand how pathetic the human race is, it’s him. And yet he’s _living_ like one of them. He has _relationships_ with them.”

He says _relationships_ like it’s a curse word, and it’s clear that he means Chloe. He looks right at her when he says it. Chloe bristles and straightens in her chair. It’s Lucifer’s turn to smooth his hand over her knee beneath the table. 

“You could learn a thing or two from humans, as well,” Amenadiel says mildly. “That’s your problem, brother. You are incapable of learning from your mistakes, at least so far. Lucifer has proven he isn’t. He’s grown. You haven’t.”

Lucifer tilts his head. “I take offense to the implication that I’ve made mistakes, but I’ll overlook it considering you’re clearly hashtag Team Lucifer.” He leans back and drapes his arm around the back of Chloe’s chair with a cocky grin. “Please, continue with the grievances.”

Chloe barely swallows an amused snort. 

“I have nothing more to say,” Amenadiel says. “Just that I wish you would think of others more than yourself, Michael. We may be celestial, but that does not give us the right to do whatever we please and leave devastation in our wake.”

Michael looks incensed. 

Linda reaches out and puts her hand on Amenadiel’s arm. “Well said,” she says softly.

Amenadiel covers her hand with his and smiles. “Thank you.”

Chloe wonders briefly if they’ve ever considered getting back together. She makes a mental note to ask Linda about it at their next girls night. 

“I’d like to go next,” Michael snarls, turning toward his father. “I have plenty to say.”

Chloe expects Lucifer’s father to recognize that Michael is clearly on the edge of an outburst, and to at least attempt to calm his son. But he doesn’t.

“Of course,” John says, gesturing for Michael to continue. 

“I have nothing to say to you,” Michael says, turning toward Amenadiel. “Your attachment to humans is disgusting and beneath you, but I know a lost cause when I see one.”

Amenadiel clenches his jaw but doesn’t argue. 

“But _you,_ ” Michael says, turning his gaze to Lucifer. “Oh, I have plenty to say to you.”

“Of course you do,” Lucifer says with a grin. “You’ve got millennia of inadequacy to get off your chest.”

“At least it’s not guilt,” Michael snaps.

The grin drops off Lucifer’s face. “What is _that_ supposed to mean?”

“Oh, Maze told me all about your hell loop,” Michael replies. “Poor Uriel, stabbed over and over by his own _brother._ ”

Chloe frowns. Lucifer has a hell loop? How could he have a hell loop when he’s in charge of running everyone else’s hell loops? And what brother? Lucifer stabbed his brother?

She glances at Lucifer. His face has gone ashen. “I did what I had to do,” he says through a clenched jaw.

“That’s what you tell yourself, isn’t it?” Michael sneers. “But it’s a lie. You had a choice. And you made the wrong one, Samael.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Amenadiel can rave about your nobility all he wants, but you and I both know there’s nothing noble about you. You murdered your brother for a human.” He gestures at Chloe. “For _her._ ”

The words hang in the air. Chloe feels everyone in the room turn their gaze toward her. Her ears are ringing. She swallows, her mouth suddenly dry, and turns toward Lucifer. He glances at her, an unmistakably guilty look on his face.

“What’s he talking about?” she asks quietly.

“Oh did his I-would-never-lie-to-you schtick not cover this?” Michael asks gleefully. “That’s the funny thing about the truth, Detective. A lie by omission is still a lie. And my brother lies to you _constantly._ ”

Chloe ignores him. “Lucifer?” she murmurs.

Lucifer turns toward her. He looks hollowed out and raw, and when he speaks his voice is soft. “He was going to kill you.”

“Who?”

“Uriel. My brother. It was...your car accident. Kimo Vanzandt. All of it was...I tried to tell you. I told you my father was sending me a message.”

Chloe tries to remember. But so much has happened since then, and there are so many other celestial issues she’s had to come to terms with since she found out the truth, that his passing reference to his father being responsible for her car accident a few years ago hasn’t even crossed her mind.

“I don’t understand,” she says.

Lucifer looks pained. “It’s complicated.”

The words feel like a slap to the face. She winces, and he immediately realizes his mistake and reaches for her. 

“No, Detective, I’m not—”

“Let me uncomplicate it for you, Detective,” Michael interrupts. “He made a deal with Dad. Dad protects you from crazy Malcolm, and in return, Lucifer promises to do as he’s told. Except when Dad tried to collect and asked Lucifer to return Mom to Hell, your boyfriend refused.” 

He looks at Lucifer. “What is it that these humans you love so much always say? You can’t have your cake and eat it too. Dad kept his word. He always does. And you, Mr. My-word-is-my-bond, didn’t. Not only that, you murdered our brother when he tried to hold you accountable.”

“That’s not what happened,” Lucifer snarls.

“Where’s the lie?” Michael demands, holding out his arms. “Amenadiel thinks we shouldn’t leave devastation in our wake, but that’s all you do, Samael. In the last few years you’ve wreaked havoc in the Silver City and in Hell and everywhere in between, and for what? For _her?_ ”

“You’re damn right I did it for her!” Lucifer shouts, slamming his fists on the table and shooting to his feet. “And I’d do it again, no matter the bloody cost! I wouldn’t expect _you_ to understand.”

Michael gets to his feet too. “Oh I understand better than you think. She told you that she thought I was you, didn’t she? What do you think that means?”

“Now wait a minute—” Chloe starts, but Lucifer talks right over her. 

“It means you tried to take what isn’t yours just like you always do, you unconscionable prick. My glory, my place in the host, now my girlfriend. You’re pathetic.”

Michael smiles wolfishly. “I didn’t take anything from her that wasn’t freely given. She’s a hell of a kisser, by the way.” He glances down at Chloe. “You tell him about how well acquainted we got when you were rooting around in my pocket looking for vending machine money?”

Chloe opens her mouth to tell him he can go to hell, but once again she doesn’t get the chance. 

“Don’t speak to her,” Lucifer snaps, his voice quivering with rage. His eyes are molten red. “Don’t even _look_ at her.”

“What are you going to do about it?” Michael challenges.

“All right,” Amenadiel interrupts, getting to his feet. “Let’s all take a breath.”

“Stay out of this, Amenadiel,” Lucifer snaps. 

“Yes, brother,” Michael says, his eyes alight with fury. “Keep your _measured_ attitude for another time.”

Chloe looks at Lucifer’s father. Her cop instincts are telling her to step in and de-escalate the situation, but this isn’t a normal domestic dispute. The only person who can break this up is the same person who started it.

“Aren’t you going to intervene?” she asks him.

He swallows a mouthful of pie. “No. This is good for them.” And then he _smiles_ at her. 

“Are you kidding me?” Chloe demands before she can think better of it. “How is this good for them? They’re going to kill each other.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t kill anyone, Chloe,” Michael says. “That’s my brother’s thing.”

“Don’t. Speak. Her. _Name,_ ” Lucifer snarls. “It isn’t your name to say.”

“It isn’t yours either. Not when you’re so afraid to hear your _own_ name, Samael.”

“Stop calling me that!” Lucifer roars, and before Chloe can react he’s got a pie-covered knife in his hand and he’s flinging it at Michael. It turns end over end, and then stops a centimeter from Michael’s chest when he catches it by the blade between his thumb and index finger.

For a moment, the room is dead silent. 

Michael glances down at the knife, and then up at Lucifer. “Guess you haven’t changed after all, have you? Once a kin killer, always a kin killer.” 

“Enough,” Amenadiel commands, snatching the knife from Michael’s grip. “You provoked him intentionally.” 

“So that means he isn’t responsible for his actions?” 

“We all know it wouldn’t have killed you,” Amenadiel replies. “You spend more time worried about his actions than your own. You’ve aired your grievances, brother. Sit down.”

“Oh I’m just getting started,” Michael replies. “And really, Amenadiel, you should be on my side here. It should concern you that he’s willing to go to such lengths for her. I mean, what happens when she dies? We all know she’s too good to go home with him. And he’s made it clear he can’t bear to be away from her permanently. So what’s he going to do? Storm the gates of the Silver City and demand we let him in to join her?” 

“So _that’s_ your plan, is it?” Lucifer interjects before Amenadiel can respond. “You incited my rebellion in the garden and now you’d like to incite another?”

“Wait, what?” Chloe says. Is that what Lucifer meant when he said his brother had been manipulating him since the dawn of time? 

No one pays her any attention.

“You hear that?” Michael says to Amenadiel, gesturing at Lucifer. “He all but admitted his plan. He’ll destroy the natural order of things for her, and if you don’t stand against him now, you’ll be just as much to blame as he is.”

Amenadiel casts a concerned look at Lucifer, but Lucifer is looking at their father. “Well, I hope you’re _proud_ of yourself, Dad,” he snaps. “Like father, like son. Manipulation runs in the celestial genes, apparently.”

John furrows his eyebrows. “Manipulation? When did I manipulate you?”

“When have you _not?_ ”

“I told you, Father,” Michael says. “I told you that he hasn’t changed. He’s just as selfish and ungrateful as ever.”

“What have I to be grateful for?” Lucifer shoots back. “The job I never wanted? Millennia surrounded by ash and torment? The eternal banishment from my family?”

Michael smirks and tips his head toward Chloe. “You could at least be grateful for your gift. She’s a newer and better version of Eve, created specifically for you, and you spit in his face every day you refuse to acknowledge his generosity.”

“ _Excuse_ me?” Chloe says. But no one looks at her except Linda.

“You misunderstand, Michael,” Amenadiel says earnestly. “She’s not the gift. What she can _do_ is the gift. It’s more like a blessing.”

“That’s the same thing,” Michael scoffs. “It all has the same source.”

“No, no, you’re wrong,” Amenadiel says.

Chloe reaches out and grabs Lucifer’s sleeve. She’s tired of being talked about without getting a chance to speak for herself. 

“Lucifer,” she calls.

He turns to look at her, but then John gets to his feet and reaches for Lucifer’s shoulder. “My son, she wasn’t—”

“I am _not_ your son,” Lucifer snaps, recoiling from John’s grasp. “Do _not_ touch me.”

“You can’t run from who you are, Samael,” Michael says, smirking again. “And neither can your girlfriend no matter how hard she tries. You two are together because you were designed to be. It’s not real. If you hate Father so much, then let go of her.”

“You can’t manipulate me into sacrificing her,” Lucifer snarls. “She is _mine._ Do you hear me? She belongs to me, not you, and I swear to Dad if you so much as _look_ at her the wrong way, I will _end_ you.”

“What did I tell you?” Michael says to Amenadiel. “He’s killed for her before and he’ll do it again. He’d burn heaven itself for her.”

“Oh, not just heaven, brother,” Lucifer snarls.

Maybe it’s the mental image of Lucifer, in all his deviled glory, burning heaven and earth in her name. Maybe it’s Michael’s smirk, or Amenadiel’s concern, or John’s confusion. Maybe it’s just the fact that they’re all standing while she sits, shouting at each other over her head as if she’s a thing without any thoughts or feelings or opinions of her own. 

Whatever it is, something inside Chloe finally snaps. 

“Stop talking about me like I’m not _here!_ ” she shouts, slamming her fist down on the table so hard that the silverware rattles. 

The room goes silent. Everyone turns to look at her, their eyes wide in surprise. Chloe glares back at them, unrepentant. 

“What the hell is _wrong_ with you people?” she demands, getting to her feet. “You’re older than the freaking _world_ and yet here you are, acting like a bunch of kids. My _daughter_ is more mature than you and she still has me check under her bed for monsters!”

Lucifer opens his mouth.

“Don’t,” Chloe snaps, holding up her hand. “It’s my turn to talk.”

Lucifer shuts his mouth. 

“I am _not_ a gift,” she says, glaring across the table at Michael. She looks at Amenadiel, and then at Lucifer and his father. “I’m not a blessing either. I don’t _belong_ to anyone. And I sure as hell am not your way back into your son’s good graces. I am a fucking _person._ I’m my _own_ person. I don’t exist to be the topic of your dinner conversation and I deserve a hell of a lot more than being treated like a trophy you all want to go to war over.”

The four celestial beings standing around her—even Michael, wonder of all wonders—look at least slightly chastised by her speech. It doesn’t ease her frustration though. If anything, it makes her madder. All that bluster and arrogance and a silly little human can shut them all up?

“You’re all ridiculous,” she says. “You can’t even get through _dinner_ without trying to rip each other’s throats out. And you don’t care who you drag into your mess, either.” She motions to herself. “Exhibit fucking A.”

Her phone rings before she can say anything else. She closes her eyes, annoyed by the interruption, and then she yanks it out of her back pocket and puts it to her ear. 

“Decker,” she snaps.

On the other end of the line, a dispatcher tells her there’s been a murder and that her lieutenant has requested it be assigned to her because it’s high profile.

“Fine,” she says, pressing her fingers to her forehead. “Where?”

The dispatcher replies, and offers to text her the address.

“Yeah. I’m on the way.”

She hangs up. Silence hovers in the air. Everyone is staring at her. She turns toward Linda.

“Linda, thank you so much for dinner. It was great. I’m sorry to eat and run, but there’s been a homicide and I have a job to do.”

“Of course,” Linda says with a kind smile. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”

She doesn’t say it, but Chloe hears the words _To check and make sure you’re okay_ loud and clear. 

“Thanks,” she says. And then she heads for the door without speaking to anyone else, stopping long enough only to grab her purse. 

She’s halfway out the front door when she hears Michael say, “Lucifer, where are you going? You can’t just _leave._ ”

“Watch me,” Lucifer shoots back. 

Chloe doesn’t stop to wait for him. She’s a few steps off the front porch when he catches up with her. 

“Detective,” he calls. “Detective, _wait._ ” 

His fingers curl around her bicep. He tugs with just enough pressure to bring her to a stop. She turns to face him with her jaw clenched. Irritation is still whipping through her veins.

He doesn’t seem to notice. “Well played with the phone call,” he says admiringly. “Although, I wouldn’t have minded in the least if you’d had them call earlier. I would’ve sacrificed dessert.” He steps closer to her with a sly smile, and his eyes dip toward her chest. “We could have had our own dessert. Still can, I suppose.”

“I didn’t tell Dispatch to call me, Lucifer,” Chloe says through gritted teeth. 

He lifts his gaze to hers. “Really? Well, lucky us then. What poor sap do we have to thank for our good fortune? Where are we headed?”

“ _We’re_ not headed anywhere. I’m going to a crime scene. You’re staying here.”

He blinks at her. “I beg your pardon?”

“I’m doing you a favor, really,” she says, folding her arms over her chest. “Now you guys can go back to talking about me, which seems to be your favorite thing to do.”

Lucifer blinks again, obviously confused. “I don’t understand. Are you angry with me?”

“No, of course not,” she says, throwing up her hands. “What could I _possibly_ be angry about? I _love_ when men fight over me like I’m a shiny toy. Especially when I’m in the room and they pretend like I’m not.”

Lucifer’s brow is furrowed like he’s trying to solve a very complicated math equation and it isn’t going well. “I see,” he says slowly. “I can...well, I can understand how that’d be rather vexing for someone like you.”

“Vexing?” Chloe repeats. And then she buries her face in her hands and mutters a string of curses. She feels Lucifer’s hand slide down her arm. 

“Detective, I didn’t intend—”

“It doesn’t matter what you _intended,_ Lucifer,” she interrupts, dropping her hands and shrugging away from him. “You talked about me like I was your possession. Like you own me.”

“But I—”

“That’s not how this works,” she cuts him off again. “You know that, right? You know you don’t _own_ me, don’t you?”

“Well of course I do, Detective.”

“Right,” Chloe says, remembering his words yesterday in the evidence room. “Of course you do.”

Lucifer searches her eyes, his brow still furrowed. “I was simply trying to defend you. To defend _us._ I only wanted...” He trails off and shakes his head. “I thought I made it clear that you have complete free will in all this.”

“Do I though?” she challenges. “Because apparently I’m the reason the world is going to end and heaven is going to burn and it really doesn’t seem like I have much of a say in that, Lucifer.”

For a moment, neither of them say anything. They just stare at each other. The three feet or so of space between them feels like miles. 

Eventually, Lucifer clenches his jaw like he’s made a decision and he’s steeling himself to act on it. He closes the distance between them. 

“Detective,” he murmurs, lifting his hands to her face. His touch makes her heart race, and this time it isn’t irritation. He holds her gaze with an earnestness that takes her breath away. “You have my word that—”

“Lucifer?” Amenadiel calls. 

The moment shatters like glass. Chloe lowers her head to stare at the sidewalk, and Lucifer exhales heavily and drops his hands from her face.

“Oh,” Amenadiel says. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“And yet you did,” Lucifer says with another sigh. “What is it?”

“Father has requested your presence. He’s ready to share his announcement.”

Chloe looks up. Lucifer’s jaw is clenched, and he’s glaring at Linda’s house as if he’d like nothing more than to smite it from existence. Chloe wonders if he could. 

He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath like he’s searching for patience, and then he looks at her. “What would you have me do, Detective?”

She stares at him in surprise. Is he...is he saying it’s up to _her_ if he goes back in there? “You don’t have a choice,” she murmurs, confusion bleeding into her voice. “That’s what you said.”

“And you?”

It feels like a trick question. She said she’d go where he goes. But she can’t call Dispatch back and say _Just kidding, tell the lieutenant I can’t do my job tonight because God has a big announcement and my boyfriend wants me there._

“It’s a high profile case, Lucifer,” she tells him. “The lieutenant specifically requested me.”

For the briefest of instances, she can see hurt flicker in Lucifer’s gaze. But it’s gone so fast she isn’t sure she really saw it, and his expression is suddenly impassive. 

“Right,” he says, straightening to his full height. “Hazards of being the best, I suppose. Good luck, Detective.”

He turns on his heel and marches back up the walk. Chloe watches him go. She feels like she should call him back so they don’t part on such an uncertain note, but she has no idea what to say. 

Lucifer pauses on the step leading up to the porch. He lingers there for a moment, and then looks over his shoulder at her. 

“Be careful,” he says quietly. 

Chloe’s throat is suddenly tight. All she can do is nod. 

Lucifer flicks his gaze over her one last time, and then he’s gone. 


	4. Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Thanksgiving, y'all :)

Chloe takes an Uber to the crime scene.

“Whoa,” her driver says when they get close to the scene and he spots flashing blue and red lights. “Are you sure this is the place?”

“You can stop here,” Chloe tells him. 

He doesn’t seem to hear her. “Dude, this is a _murder scene,_ ” he breathes in wonder. “That’s the coroner! Look at the van! Do you think there’s a dead body in there?”

“Please stop the car.”

He turns in his seat to look at her. He still hasn’t stopped, though he’s at least slowed down enough that he’s inching forward and probably won’t hit anything. Probably. 

“Why did you have me bring you to a murder scene?” he asks. And then his eyes widen. “Oh my god, are you one of those nightcrawler people?”

Chloe rips her badge off her belt and shoves it in his face. “LAPD. Stop the damn car and let me out.”

The car slams to a stop, and Chloe has to put her arm up to keep herself from smashing into the back of the passenger seat. The driver puts his hands in the air. “I’m stopped. Please don’t shoot me.”

Chloe rolls her eyes and gets out of the car. She’s only taken a few steps when the driver calls out after her, “Hey police lady?”

She turns around.

He grins at her. “I can wait here for you if you want. I’ll take you wherever you have to go next. To notify next of kin, right? Or maybe to the crime lab? I watch all the shows so I know stuff.”

“No,” Chloe says flatly.

“No you’re not going to the crime lab?” he says in confusion.

Chloe strides toward him and bends forward so that she’s eye level. “No, I don’t want you to wait. If I find you out here when I come back out, I’ll arrest you. Okay?”

He nods. “Yeah. Okay. Got it.”

Chloe turns on her heel and strides away from him and toward the townhouse with the same address Dispatch sent her. 

“Who peed in your coffee, Decker?” one of the uniformed officers standing by the yellow tape asks her. “You need a hug?”

“Shut up, Nixon,” she says. 

He grins. “Yes ma’am.”

She can feel his eyes on her ass as she walks. She knows he wouldn’t look at her like that if Lucifer were here. And somehow, that makes her angrier. 

By the time she gets inside the townhouse, she’s ready to punch someone. She knows better than to enter a scene in this kind of mood. It’ll color her observations and impact her assessments, and whatever victim she’s about to meet doesn’t deserve that. They deserve her best. That’s what she wanted from the cops at her dad’s murder scene, and it’s the least she can do for this victim. 

She stops just inside the door and takes a deep breath as she stares down at her boots. _Nothing but this matters now,_ she tells herself. _Do your job and worry about everything else later._ She exhales slowly, and then looks up to take in her surroundings. 

It’s a _really_ nice place. High ceilings, freshly painted walls, floors that are obviously brand new. Some kind of luxury laminate if she had to guess. The front door opens into a large living room that holds a leather sectional facing a massive TV and sound system. The walls are covered in expensive art and framed black and white photos. Beyond the living space is an eating area with a table that seats six, but there are only two plates and two wine glasses set out. No food. Glasses are still empty. 

There’s a kitchen in the distance. Judging by the flashing camera lights, that’s where she’s going to find the body. She heads in that direction but pauses at the island. There’s an unopened bottle of expensive wine sitting next to a beautiful bouquet of flowers. The flowers make her think of Lucifer.

She wishes he was here.

She grits her teeth and pushes him from her mind. _S_ he glances around the kitchen and spots a few pots and pans on the stove next to an opened box of pasta. Vegetables for a salad are spread across the island. She makes her way around the edge of the island and finally finds the dead body sprawled on the floor in front of the sink. Ella is crouched next to the victim, snapping pictures. 

“Ella?” Chloe says in surprise.

Ella whips her head up. “Decker?” She gets to her feet. “What are you doing here? Didn’t you get kidnapped, like, yesterday?”

“Me?” Chloe says. “What are _you_ doing here? Your boyfriend—” 

Ella winces, and Chloe stops talking abruptly. An awkward silence expands between them.

“Sorry,” Chloe says when she finds her voice.

“No, no, it’s fine,” Ella says, waving her hand. “It’s totally fine. So my boyfriend was a creepy serial killer who had a secret room full of murder flowers and only asked me out because he wanted me to be his next victim. So what? Happens to the best of us, right?”

Chloe tilts her head. “Um?”

“It’s _fine,_ ” Ella says cheerfully. “Everything is fine. All good in the hood. Let’s talk about you.” She wiggles her eyebrows. “Lucifer been giving you the old Florence Nightingale treatment? Helping you heal up real good?”

Chloe ignores the pang in her chest at the mention of her boyfriend. “Not really.”

Ella frowns. “Really? I would’ve thought...I mean, he was _distraught,_ Decker. Like, level ten, DEFCON 1 distraught. I kept waiting for him to lose it and Hulk smash his car. Or cry. I kind of thought he might cry. I didn’t even know he _could_ cry.”

The pang in Chloe’s chest returns with a vengeance.

Ella is oblivious. She cranes her neck as she looks around the crime scene. “Wait, where is he? You guys didn’t come together?”

“He’s not coming,” Chloe says, still trying to breathe around the pang. “He’s got a family thing.”

“Oh. Like with Amenadiel?”

“Yeah, he’s there too.”

Ella looks confused. “I didn’t think they had family in L.A.”

“They don’t. They’re just…in town visiting.”

“Nice! From where?”

Chloe has no idea how to answer that so she doesn’t. “It’s complicated. Ella, listen, are you sure you’re okay? I mean what you went through—”

“Nope,” Ella interrupts. “No talking about feelings unless they’re yours. This,” she sweeps her arms around her body in a big circle, “is a no feelings zone. I have no feelings. None. Zero. Zilch. Nada.”

“You have feelings, Ella,” Chloe insists gently. “And that’s okay. It’s good, even. And you don’t have to be here if you don’t want to be.”

“I do.”

“Ella—”

“I have to be here, Chloe,” Ella cuts her off. There’s an edge of desperation in her voice. “I _need_ to be here. I need to do my job and make sure that guys like…” She trails off and swallows. Her eyes are glassy. “I need to make sure the bad guys aren’t on the street.” 

A wave of sympathy crashes over Chloe. “Okay,” she says with a nod. “Look, if anyone understands using work as an escape, it’s me. Just...don’t escape too long, okay? It’s better to deal with stuff than to let it fester. And when you’re ready to talk about it, I’m here. Anytime.”

Ella looks like she’s about to burst into tears. She sucks in a breath and nods. “Yeah, okay. Thanks.”

Chloe smiles. “Sure. Now what’ve we got?”

Ella looks visibly relieved at the change in topic. “Dead guy, meet Decker,” she says, gesturing at the corpse on the floor. “Decker, meet Dead Guy.”

Chloe studies the body and pretends she doesn’t notice Ella using her sleeve to wipe her eyes. “I’m guessing the cause of death is stabbing?”

“What tipped you off?” Ella asks with a snort. “The giant knife sticking out of his back?”

“Just call me Sherlock,” Chloe quips. “Dead Guy got a name?”

“James Erickson. 36. Neurosurgeon at UCLA Medical Center.”

“Explains the fancy digs,” Chloe says. She crouches next to the body. “No defensive wounds?”

“Nope. I’m guessing he was standing over the sink, trying to fill a pot with water for the pasta that’s sitting over there when someone stabbed him in the back. Knife is from the knife block.” 

Chloe glances up at the counter, and sure enough, there’s a knife missing from the block. “Crime of passion then.”

“Faucet was still on when he was found,” Ella continues. “So that’s why I’m thinking he was using it. Would’ve been nice if the killer could’ve turned it off. Don’t they know we’re in a drought?”

“Apparently not.” Chloe gets to her feet. “Who found him?”

“Kendra Harris. Girlfriend.” Ella nods over Chloe’s shoulder. “She’s over there.”

Chloe glances over her shoulder and sees a beautiful blonde woman standing at the foot of the stairs next to a uniformed officer. Her face is streaked with tears. 

“Anything I should know before I talk to her?”

“Nope,” Ella says.

“Okay. Holler at me if you notice anything else I should see.”

“Will do.”

Chloe heads toward Kendra, dodging crime scene techs on the way. 

“Ms. Harris?” she says when she stops in front of the woman. “I’m Detective Decker. I’d like to ask you a few questions if that’s all right.”

Kendra sniffs. “Yeah. Okay.”

“Can you tell me what happened?”

Kendra swipes at her cheeks. Her mascara must be some kind of supercharged waterproof edition, because it isn’t coming off despite all her tears. 

“Jamie and I had plans,” she says in a wavering voice. “He asked me to meet him here at eight. He’d just gotten off a double shift at the hospital, and I told him we could reschedule, but he was dead set on me coming over.”

She takes a deep, shuddering breath. “I was late. I stopped at the liquor store on the corner to pick up his favorite whiskey because I knew he’d…” A sob escapes. She sucks in a breath and forges on. “He’d had a rough few days. He lost a patient. He always took it hard when he lost patients.”

“He was a surgeon?” Chloe asks.

Kendra nods. “Yeah. He was...he was really good. Kind of a prodigy, but he didn’t like to be called that. It embarrassed him. He just wanted to help people.”

Kendra sobs again. Chloe’s chest feels tight. She’s never gotten used to this. The dead bodies, maybe, and the cruelty that people harbor inside, but the grief...she’s never gotten used to that. It reminds her of being nineteen and finding out that she’d never see her dad again.

“I got here at, like, fifteen after,” Kendra continues when she’s gotten ahold of herself. “And he was...I found him like that. Just...laying there.”

“He was dead when you found him?”

Fresh tears spill from Kendra’s cheeks. “Yeah. He wasn’t uh...he wasn’t breathing.”

“Did you see anyone?”

“No.”

“Did you notice anything out of place? Anything suspicious?”

“The um...the faucet was still on? And the back door was open. But I didn’t see anyone back there. I called 911. And then I just...I just waited until the cops got here.”

Chloe reaches out and presses her hand against Kendra’s arm. “I’m so sorry for your loss, Ms. Harris.”

Kendra nods. The tears are coming fast and hard now.

“Is there anyone we can call for you? Anyone who can come get you?”

“My sister is on the way.”

“Good.” Chloe pulls a business card from her pocket. “I’m the detective in charge of this case. Here’s my card. If you need anything, or if you think of anything—anything at all, even if you think it’s small—give me a call. But I’ll be in touch either way.”

Kendra takes the card. “Thank you.”

“Decker,” Ella calls.

Chloe smiles at Kendra. “Excuse me.”

Kendra nods and then buries her face in her hands as her body shudders with another sob. Chloe feels another stab of empathy and grief, but she steels herself against it and heads back into the kitchen.

“What’s up?” she asks.

Ella looks pained. She holds out her hand. “This fell out of his pocket when the coroner’s guys tried to move him.”

Chloe frowns. She snags a glove from Ella’s kit sitting nearby, pulls it on, and holds out her hand. Ella sets a small velvet box in her palm.

Chloe’s heart drops. “No.”

“Yeah,” Ella sighs.

Chloe opens the box gently. Inside is a gorgeous engagement ring. She glances over her shoulder at Kendra, who is still crying, and then back at the ring. 

“Sometimes the world really sucks, you know?” Ella says softly.

“Yeah,” Chloe says around a sudden lump in her throat. “It sure does.”

* * *

Chloe has always found comfort in patterns.

_Thunk._

They’re easy to understand. First there’s one thing, and then another, and then it goes back to the first thing. It’s simple.

_Thunk thunk._

They’re easy to predict, too. There are no surprises. No sudden shifts in the wind, no unexpected developments. Nothing that can pop up out of nowhere and sucker punch her right in the gut.

_Thunk._

Life isn’t full of patterns, though. It’s messy. It’s unpredictable. And sometimes, it hurts like fucking hell. 

_Thunk thunk._

Dull pain shoots through her hand. She grits her teeth, flicks a few fallen strands of hair out of her eyes, and then refocuses on the punching bag. Better the punching bag and the pleasantly familiar ache in her knuckles than the sharp pain in her chest that’s making it hard to breathe. She doesn’t know if it’s the mental image of Kendra Harris crying, or the discovery of the engagement ring, or everything that happened before with Lucifer and his family. It doesn’t matter. Nothing matters except this punching bag and the pattern of her fists. 

_Thunk._

_Thunk thunk._

“Decker?”

Chloe jumps at the sound of her name. She turns, heart racing and fists still up in a boxer’s stance, to find Jimmy Karpowski from Vice standing a few feet away with a gym bag slung over his shoulder.

He must realize that he startled her, because he offers her a disarming smile. “Sorry,” he says, holding up his hands. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”

Chloe blinks at him for a second, taken aback. It’s past eleven o’clock on a Saturday night. The bullpen is practically deserted except for the night shift. She didn’t expect anyone to be working out this late. That’s why she came up here. 

Karpowski tilts his head at her. “You okay?”

Chloe forces a smile to smooth over her lips and lowers her hands. “Yeah. Just working out some frustration.”

“Rough case?” he asks sympathetically.

“Yeah. The roughest.”

“Want a fresh pair of eyes?”

This time, Chloe’s smile is genuine. Karpowski is a good man and a good cop, and she’s good enough at reading people to know that his offer is genuine. She likes that. She likes the simplicity of it. No hidden agendas, no manipulations, no master plan she’s a pawn in. Just a regular mortal man offering to help a colleague with a tough case because she seems like she needs it. It’s kind of him, and she’s always appreciated kindness. 

A sudden, unexpected wave of grief washes over her. Her life used to be filled with moments like this. Normal stuff. Normal people. There was plenty of dysfunction, of course, because she’s not perfect and neither are the people she loves. She’s had her fair share of pain, and she’s met plenty of people with ulterior motives. She’s been played before. 

But it’s different to be the plaything of gods and angels. It’s…

She doesn’t have the words to describe it. That’s why she’s here. It’s why, when Ella left for the night, Chloe lied and said she was leaving too and then came up here. It’s why her phone is locked in a locker where she can’t hear it ring, because she doesn’t want to know if Lucifer calls her. She just...she can’t deal with all the celestial bullshit right now. The human shit is more than enough to make her feel hollowed out. 

“Decker?” Karpowski says with a frown.

Chloe snaps to attention. “No,” she blurts out. She pushes away the memory of Lucifer looking heartbroken in front of Linda’s house and smiles at Karpowski. “I appreciate the offer, Karpowski, but I’m sure you’ve got cases of your own.”

Karpowski smiles. “Well, the offer stands if you change your mind. Sometimes it helps to have someone outside your circle look at things. And I haven’t forgotten the favor you did for us a few years back. Well, more like _favors,_ plural.”

A memory of a very tight red dress and a _very_ handsy politician surfaces in her mind. She wonders what Lucifer would think if he found out she went undercover as a hooker a few times for Vice. 

“You don’t owe me for that,” she tells Karpowski with a smile. “I was happy to help.” 

“Agree to disagree,” he says. He winks at her. “Night, Decker.”

“Night.”

She watches him go. It isn’t until the door shuts behind him that Chloe realizes she should have asked him why he was here so late, and if he had a case that he needed help with. It was selfish of her to only think of herself and her problems. 

_Oh please, Detective,_ Lucifer’s voice purrs in her mind. _You’re selfless to a nauseating degree._

“Shut up, Lucifer,” she mutters under her breath. 

And then she starts punching again. 

She gets into a steady rhythm, and her thoughts turn to white noise. She’s got training gloves on—the fingerless kind because she didn’t have the patience to get in and out of boxing gloves on her own—but her knuckles are starting to ache. She keeps punching anyway.

Until Lucifer materializes behind the bag and her heart shoots straight out of her chest. 

“ _Shit,_ ” she gasps, stumbling backward with her hand over her heart. “What the _hell,_ Lucifer.”

He looks amused, and then quickly repentant. “My apologies, Detective. I had no intention of frightening you.”

Chloe glances behind her at the entrance to the gym, and then back to Lucifer. “How did you know I was here?” 

“I was sitting at your desk,” he replies, sliding his hands into his pockets. “Detective Karpowski saw me, and I must have looked rather forlorn without you, because he told me where I could find you.”

Chloe frowns. “You were at my desk?”

“Well you weren’t at home so I came here,” he says. “The desk sergeant saw you come in but you never left. Your keys were in your desk drawer and there was half a cup of still-warm coffee on your desk. I knew you were in the precinct somewhere, I just wasn’t sure where. So I thought it best to stay in one place and wait for your inevitable appearance.”

“Oh,” Chloe says. 

Lucifer glances around the room with his eyebrows slightly furrowed. “What on earth is this place?”

“The gym.”

“Of course,” he says, crinkling his nose slightly. “I should have guessed from the smell of dirty socks and human sadness.”

Chloe rolls her eyes and steps toward the punching bag. “If you don’t like it, you can go.”

“But you’re here.”

He says it as if that’s reason enough for him to be anywhere, let alone a place he doesn’t want to be, and that makes her pause, but only for a moment. She presses her lips together and then starts punching the bag again.

Lucifer watches her for a minute or two, his head tilted like a puppy who’s hearing a noise for the first time. A few years ago it might have annoyed her to be studied so closely, but she’s used to it now. And honestly, even if she isn’t ready to talk about the celestial tug of war his family had over her at dinner, she’s glad he’s here. She likes when he’s close.

“What, exactly, are you doing?” he asks eventually.

She casts a brief glance at him and then turns her attention back to the punching bag. “What’s it look like I’m doing?”

“Taking out your frustrations on this poor bag.” 

She doesn’t contradict him.

“I didn’t realize you were into boxing,” he says, apparently unwilling to let silence linger too long.

“I’m a cop, Lucifer. I have to know how to hit stuff.”

“Yes, of course. I just...didn’t realize you enjoyed hitting things in your spare time.”

“Just because you’ve never seen me do something doesn’t mean I don’t do it.”

He grins. “And what else do you do when I’m not watching, Detective?”

Chloe grits her teeth and gives the bag a one-two punch with a little extra oomph instead of answering. Lucifer hums quietly under his breath. Chloe glances at him, and then double takes. He’s looking at her like he does when he’s thinking about her naked.

“Seriously?” she says, dropping her hands. “There is nothing sexy about this. I’m drenched in sweat.”

Lucifer’s grin widens. “I must admit, I’m rather mystified myself. I’ve had hundreds of fantasies about you. This wasn’t one of them.” His eyes flicker over her. “And yet…”

Heat flares in Chloe’s gut. It annoys her. She exhales hard through her nose and lifts her fists again. “Go away, Lucifer.”

He smirks. “Is that really what you desire?”

“Yes.”

The word is out of her mouth before she can stop it, and it sounds far harsher than she intended. 

She doesn’t mean it. She doesn’t want him to go. She _never_ wants him to go. But she just said she did, and the word hits the atmosphere between them like a sledgehammer. 

Hurt shivers across Lucifer’s face. “Very well,” he says quietly. He turns on his heel and heads for the door.

For a second, Chloe is frozen as her brain tries to catch up with her mouth. And then it finally sinks in, and she bolts after him. 

She catches him just as he’s swinging the door open. She flattens her hand against it and shoves it closed again, and it slams shut with a bang that echoes through the gym. 

Lucifer lifts his eyebrows and looks down at her. She wonders if this is how he looks at his demons when they displease him. 

“Don’t go,” she says, tilting her head back to look up at him. “I didn’t mean it.”

“I believe they call this mixed messages, Detective.”

Guilt wraps around her throat and squeezes. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I…” She sighs and drops her hand from the door. “I’m sorry, Lucifer. I’m sorry I left you alone with your family. I’m sorry I was a jerk just now. And I’m sorry that I...I’m sorry I’m not handling the celestial craziness as well as you probably wish I was.”

His gaze softens. “I’m told it’s a lot to handle.”

“Yeah,” she agrees. “But that doesn’t mean I should treat you like a punching bag.”

“Well, you didn’t punch me,” he points out with a smile. “Although I’m certain you’ve considered it at some point during our partnership.”

“More than once, if I’m being honest.”

He laughs, and it makes her smile. 

“I appreciate your candor,” he says, his eyes sparkling. 

She shrugs. “Well we don’t lie to each other, right?”

“That is correct.” 

They stare at each other for a while after that. A few months ago, a moment like this would have made her wonder what he was thinking, and if he was feeling the same heat and tension as her. Now she knows he is. Or at least she _thinks_ he is. Maybe her temper tantrum at family dinner has him reconsidering things. Maybe he’s realized she’s just not cut out to be part of his world. 

The thought makes her heart hurt.

Lucifer turns more fully toward her. “If you’ve finished punishing that poor bag, there are a few things I should like to discuss,” he says quietly. “I believe I owe you an apology, and I’d rather not make it surrounded by the scent of decade-old body odor. If noses could weep, mine would be crying like Daniel when someone absconds with his pudding.”

Chloe snorts. “You’re such a drama queen.”

Lucifer smiles but doesn’t disagree. He reaches out to brush a loose strand of hair back from her face. “If you’ve still got some frustrations to vent, though, I’m happy to wait. Benefits of being immortal. Nothing but time. Especially for you, my dear Detective.” 

_My dear Detective._ Chloe’s heart shoots up into her throat. 

“No, I’m good,” she says. “Just let me shower, okay? Since you’re so offended by body odor.”

“You don’t have an odor,” Lucifer says, shaking his head. He leans toward her. “In fact, I rather like it when you sweat. Though I’d much prefer to be the cause.”

“You never turn it off, do you?”

His eyes drop to her mouth. “Not when it comes to you, darling. I’d have thought that was rather obvious by now.”

Chloe presses her gloved hand into his chest to keep him at arm’s length. He’s getting dangerously close to her. It’s much harder to resist him now that they’ve crossed the line, but she needs to. As much as she’d like to climb him like a tree right now, she can’t. There are cameras in this gym, and if she leads him into the locker room where there aren’t cameras, it’s going to be obvious what they’re doing. People talk, especially cops, and she’d rather not give her colleagues more reasons to talk about her than they already have.

“I’ll meet you down at my desk in twenty minutes,” she says. “Dan has Trixie for the night so we can go to my place. If you want.” 

He grins at her. “It’s a date.”

* * *

Chloe is unlocking her front door when Lucifer steps into her space. 

She can feel his chest pressing against her shoulder blades, and then he buries his face in her hair and inhales. She pauses, her key still in the lock, and smiles.

“What are you doing?”

“You smell lovely,” he murmurs. “Like flowers.”

“It’s shampoo.”

“It’s delightful. What is it?”

Her smile widens into a grin. “The cheap stuff that’s always on sale.” She turns the key and shoves open her front door. “Not all of us can afford to spend hundreds of dollars on shampoo every month.”

“I’d be happy to cover your shampoo purchases,” Lucifer offers, following her inside and closing the door behind him. “And any other expenses you might need covered.”

“Um, no. I’m good.”

She hangs her purse on the hooks by the door, kicks off her shoes, and then tosses her keys on the counter as she wanders into the kitchen. 

“I think I have wine,” she says, walking around the peninsula. “Although I’m sure it’s not the expensive stuff you’d prefer. And no, I don’t need you to buy me wine either.”

She roots around in the upper cupboard where she keeps her alcohol out of Trixie’s reach, and pulls down a bottle of her favorite red. Lucifer hasn’t answered her, so she turns around with the bottle in hand. He’s staring at her with a funny look on his face. 

“What?” she asks.

“It bothers you that I’m wealthy,” he says slowly as if he’s just had a startling revelation.

She frowns. “What? No it doesn’t.”

“You won’t let me buy you things.”

“That doesn’t mean I hate that you’re rich,” she says, setting the wine bottle down on the island with a dull thunk. “It just means I prefer to buy my own stuff.”

“But why?” he presses. “I have plenty of money. More than I could ever spend. And despite the considerable amount of risk you endure for the sake of your job, the city pays you peanuts.”

“How do you know? Did you go through my laptop again?”

He ignores her. “You have a tiny mouth to feed in addition to your own, and I’ve seen how much she eats. Honestly, I’ve no idea where it all goes. Your spawn is a bottomless pit. And she grows like a weed, so I’m certain you’re forced to purchase new clothes and shoes almost constantly.”

“A weed that’s a bottomless pit,” Chloe repeats dryly as she crosses the kitchen and then reaches up to a shelf for glasses. “That’s a new one. I think I prefer urchin.”

Lucifer forges on without acknowledging her. “Maze no longer shares expenses with you. You’re the sole breadwinner of this household, Detective. Does Daniel pay child support, at least, or is he as douchey about that as he is everything else?”

Chloe sighs as she sets two wine glasses on the counter. “Are we really having this conversation right now?”

“Detective,” Lucifer starts, concern clear on his face. “If you need financial assistance—”

“I don’t.”

He rounds the peninsula and closes the distance between them with a purposeful stride. “I know you’re very proud and so you might not request assistance if—”

“First of all,” Chloe cuts him off, “you calling me proud is the most pot-meet-kettle thing I have ever heard. Second of all, I don’t need your money, okay? Trixie and I are fine. I don’t need a sugar daddy.”

Lucifer looks unconvinced. At first, Chloe is exasperated. But there’s something in his expression that makes her swallow the sarcasm sitting on the tip of her tongue. She studies him for a moment, trying to figure out what it is, and then she realizes. 

He’s _worried_ about her. 

It’s cute, but also dangerous. When Lucifer is worried, he tends to go from 0 to 100 in seconds. He does crazy things that he thinks will fix everything, consequences be damned, and the consequences are always absurd. She has visions of him gifting her with a beachfront palace in Malibu, or buying her entire complex and refusing to let her pay rent, and she turns to face him with her hands on her hips.

“You’re not going to let this go unless I tell you, are you?” 

He frowns. “Tell me what?”

She sighs. “Look, my mom was never A-list, okay? She didn’t get paid tens of millions for her films. But she did pretty well, especially when you add in conventions and residuals and all that. She’s not great with money, but my dad was. And when I was born, they created a trust for me.”

Lucifer blinks at her. “You have a trust fund?”

“Yeah. I mean, I don’t really _use_ it. I mostly treat it like Trixie’s college fund. But I dip into it when I need to.” 

“How much is in there?”

“Enough. Let’s leave it at that.” She brandishes her index finger in his face. “And don’t you dare tell anyone. It’s bad enough I’ve got _Hot Tub High School_ following me everywhere. I don’t need to hear snide remarks about my trust fund too.”

Lucifer nods. “Right. Of course. I won’t tell a soul, you have my word.”

“Good. Now hand me the corkscrew,” she says, nodding over his shoulder.

Lucifer turns away from her obediently, reaches into the correct drawer without any direction from her, and then hands her the corkscrew. 

She opens the wine bottle and pours two glasses. Lucifer gazes at her while she does. She lets him watch her until the air becomes almost suffocating with his unspoken question.

“What?” she finally asks with a sigh, meeting his gaze.

He doesn’t beat around the bush. “You have a trust fund. You could buy shampoo that’s not on sale if you desired it. Or better wine. Or both. But you don’t.”

“Because that money isn’t for shampoo and wine. It’s Trixie’s college money.”

“I have a feeling you’ve enough funds for both.”

He’s right, but she doesn’t say so. “Just because you can do something doesn't mean you should,” she says, holding out a glass for him. “Now do you want to drink my cheap wine or not?”

He takes the glass from her, and then bends forward and kisses her. Despite all the heated looks he gave her at the gym, there’s no lust in it. He seems to be kissing her just because he can, and she likes that. She likes him.

She _loves_ him. 

He hums as he pulls away. It’s almost a purr, the kind of sound a lazy cat would make if it found a patch of sun to lay in, and his contentment makes her feel warm. He smiles down at her, and then he presents her with the second wine glass and leads her into her living room by the hand. 

He settles her on the couch before he heads to the fireplace to switch the gas on. The fire roars to life. He stares at it for a second, his gaze distant, and then he joins her on the couch. He drapes his arm across the cushions between them so that his hand is close to her shoulder and turns toward her, crossing his legs. 

“Setting the mood?” she teases as she tucks her legs up beneath her body. 

“Oh I don’t have to,” he replies airily. “Look at me. I _am_ the mood.”

“Wow,” she snorts as she lifts her glass to her lips. 

He smiles, but it fades quickly. He lifts his hand and traces his fingers over her shoulder. Sparks shiver down her arm at his touch. 

“I owe you an apology, Detective.”

His voice is soft, and so is the expression on his face. Chloe swallows and lowers her glass. He’s really not beating around the bush tonight. She isn’t sure if that’s a good thing or not. 

“Yeah, you said that,” she says noncommittally. 

He shifts a little on the couch. “In case you hadn’t noticed, my brother gets under my skin.”

“Oh, I noticed.”

He smiles humorlessly. “He brings out the worst in me. And tonight, that was my possessive side. Truth be told, I’ve never really been the possessive type. Not when it comes to people, anyway. I never cared enough to want someone all to myself.” 

He lifts his gaze to meet hers. “Never until you.”

Any lingering frustration she had from family dinner evaporates. “Lucifer,” she breathes. 

“But my inexperience with serious relationships doesn’t excuse my ghastly behavior,” he says, lifting his hand like he thought she was going to argue with him. “I can’t begin to imagine what you thought of us all screaming at each other like that. Quite unlike the family dinners you’re accustomed to.”

Chloe tilts her head. “Oh I don’t know. Dan and I had some pretty nasty screaming matches before we got divorced. Some of them were over Trixie. Maybe that’s why…”

Oh. She hadn’t even realized. 

“I don’t think it was all you,” she says, reaching out to put her hand on Lucifer’s knee. “Some of it was my stuff too. Leftover baggage from the divorce, and probably also that whole gift-from-God thing. I’m still trying to come to terms with that one.”

“You are?” he asks, his eyebrows furrowing in surprise. 

“Well, yeah,” she says. “I mean, I’ve accepted it. I know what we have is real. But I guess I’m just...I don’t know. Trying to figure out what it all means and what my place is in this big plan your dad seems to have.”

“Which is why you were so fixated on the idea that you would start a war between my brother and I.”

Chloe frowns. “Well I wouldn’t say _fixated._ But you…” She searches his eyes. “You said you’d burn heaven for me, Lucifer.”

“I would.”

He says it without a trace of hesitation. She pulls her hand back from his knee and shakes her head. “I don’t want you to do that.”

“Because you don’t approve of me embracing my dark side?” 

“Because I don’t want to be the reason anyone gets hurt,” she clarifies. “I’ll be the first to say Michael needs his ass kicked, but a _war,_ Lucifer? I’m not...I can’t be responsible for that.”

“You wouldn’t be.”

“Yes I would. If you do it for me, I’m responsible for it.”

“That’s not how it works, Detective.”

“That’s _exactly_ how it works.”

Lucifer studies her for a moment that seems to drag out for an eternity. Eventually, he leans forward and sets his wine glass on the coffee table. He turns toward her and folds his hands in his lap.

“I understand what you’re saying.”

She arches an eyebrow. This is one of those instances when she wants to point out Linda’s influence—the Lucifer she met years ago would not have been this emotionally intelligent about a disagreement—but she refrains. 

“But?” she prompts instead.

“But as I told you that evening you had an axe pressed to my very well-defined chest, I’ll do whatever it takes to protect you. Nothing is more important to me than your health and happiness, Detective. There’s no deal I won’t make for your sake. No price I won’t pay. You have to know that by now.”

“I do. I just...saving my life isn’t the same thing as starting a celestial war for me.”

“I won’t start it,” he tells her, shaking his head. “You have my word that I will instigate nothing. But if someone else were to start something over you, you can rest assured I _will_ finish it.”

“Is that what you did with Uriel?”

The words are out of her mouth before she can think twice about them. Grief shivers over Lucifer’s face, and she immediately feels like an idiot.

“Yes,” he murmurs before she can apologize. “It is.”

Chloe’s chest feels suddenly tight. She grips her wine glass and swallows hard. “What happened?” 

“Are you certain you want to know?”

That catches her off guard. He must be able to read it on her face, because he slides his hand over her knee reassuringly.

“I meant it when I said I would answer any question you have. But I have found that sometimes…” He clears his throat and shifts on the couch. “Sometimes people don’t want the answers they claim to seek.”

Chloe considers her options because that’s who she is, but she knows what she wants.

“Tell me,” she whispers.

And he does. He starts at the beginning. He tells her who Uriel is, and what their relationship was like before his fall. He tells her about Azrael’s blade, and what it does to humans, and what it does to celestials. He tells her what Michael hinted at—the deal he made with his father to save her and Trixie from Malcolm, and how he didn’t want to return his mother to Hell. He tells her about Uriel’s appearance, and about his power over patterns. He tells her about their fight in the church, and Uriel’s promise to kill her, and how he grabbed Azrael’s blade and stabbed his brother so that she’d be safe. 

He doesn’t look at her while he talks. He stares into the fire, and she watches him. He’s beautiful in the firelight. He’s never looked more like an angel to her than he does right now, and it makes her ache. 

At some point, tears start to leak from her eyes. She’s not sure when or why. It’s the grief in his voice, maybe, and the knowledge that he went through so much pain for her and she didn’t even know. 

She didn’t know. 

He’s explaining his hell loop—the one he was only in because he was trying to save her again—when he finally looks over at her. He stops talking abruptly, and a look of horror passes over his face. 

“Detective,” he breathes. 

She shakes her head and wipes her face. “Sorry.”

He takes her glass from her hand and sets it on the coffee table. When he turns back to face her, he brushes her hand away and then wipes his own hands over the trails of tears on her cheeks. 

“I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“You didn’t,” she insists. “I just…”

“You just what?” he presses. He snatches the pocket square from his jacket and offers it to her, but he doesn’t give her a chance to use it because he’s using his thumbs to wipe away her tears with a gentleness that makes her throat tight. 

He’s fussing over her. The Devil is fussing over her. It makes a fresh wave of tears hit her eyes.

“I can’t believe you did all that for me,” she whispers, reaching out to grab a fistful of his jacket.

He goes still. He looks stunned by the awe in her voice, and then almost shy. “Well I couldn’t leave the urchin motherless now, could I?”

“Lucifer,” she murmurs, her voice cracking on the word. 

“I told you,” he says, tilting closer to her. “There’s no price too steep, Detective. I’d do it again. I’d brave that hell loop for all eternity for your sake.”

It’s a huge claim to make, but she believes him. How could she not? How could she feel anything but love for this man who is so infuriating and ridiculous and good? 

He gazes at her, that same I-found-water-in-the-desert look he wore in the evidence room, and she doesn’t deserve it. She doesn’t deserve him.

“I’m sorry,” she exhales on a sob.

He looks incredulous. “What on earth for?” 

“You killed him for me. You went to Hell for me and I paid you back by going behind your back with Father Kinley and…”

She can’t even finish. She just trails off with a strangled sob. 

He strokes the tips of his fingers over her cheek and smiles at her. “It’s not as though I haven’t done my fair share of hurting you. Far more than you hurt me, I’d say.”

She shakes her head. “No, this was different. It was…” She squeezes his suit jacket tight in her fist and drops her head. “I’m sorry,” she whispers. “I’m so sorry.”

“Look at me, darling,” he says, putting his hand beneath her chin and tilting her head back up so she has to look at him. “It’s a wound long healed. I had thousands of years to understand why you did what you did, and I see it now for what it was. I don’t blame you. If you’re looking for punishment, you won’t find it here.”

He leans forward and presses his forehead against hers. She closes her eyes. She tries to keep the tears at bay, but fails. 

He leans back. She doesn’t open her eyes, but she knows he’s realized she’s still crying because he whispers _Detective_ in a broken voice. He wraps his arms around her and pulls her into his lap, and she goes willingly. She curls into him, her face buried in his chest, and he holds her tightly the same way she holds Trixie when she’s upset. 

Eventually all the grief and remorse and regret finally bleed out of her. When her breathing slows, and she’s sure she’s not going to lose her shit again, she leans back to look at him. She turns to face him and shifts into a more comfortable position, her knees sliding down to either side of his thighs, and then she smooths her hand over his suit jacket where she left a wet spot and probably some mascara stains. 

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he says with a kind smile. “My shoulder is yours to cry on whenever you please, Detective.”

She traces her fingertips over the buttons on his vest. She wants to say something to him—to reassure him that what happened with Father Kinley will never happen again—but she’s not sure how. After a minute or two of searching fruitlessly for the right words, she settles on the truth in the plainest terms possible.

“I don’t want to hurt you again, Lucifer.”

He shakes his head. “You won’t.”

“How do you know?”

He tilts his head and seems to consider the question. “Well, I suppose I have faith.”

She lifts her eyebrows. “The Devil has faith?”

She expects him to grin and say something obnoxious or suggestive or both. But he doesn’t. 

“Only in you.”

All the breath rushes out of Chloe’s lungs. He’s got that look on his face again and she can barely stand it. She loves him so much she thinks she might drown in it.

“Lucifer,” she whispers.

He sits up straight, bringing them face to face and eye level, and lifts his hand to her cheek. “You’re the only thing I believe in, Chloe,” he whispers, his thumb stroking over the jut of her jaw. “You made the Devil a believer.”

It’s not an _I love you,_ but it sure as hell feels like one.

She leans forward and kisses him. She kisses him like she wanted to kiss him every day he was gone, and like she wants to kiss him every day for the rest of her life. He kisses her back with abandon. Desire roars to life inside her. It feels like the blood in her veins has turned to liquid fire. 

She starts on the buttons of his vest, but gives up after two and just rips it open. She gives his shirt the same treatment. 

“I like this shirt,” he complains. But he’s smiling, and his hands are all over her, and she knows him well enough to know that he couldn’t care less that she just ruined his shirt.

“I’ll buy you a new one,” she says anyway, shoving his shirt open to reveal his chest.

“With your trust fund?”

“Shut up.”

He laughs, and she kisses it from his lips. With his shirt open there’s new skin for her to touch, to lean forward and kiss, and when he sucks in a breath and his chest lifts beneath her mouth, she feels a flash of pride because she can make the Devil gasp. 

He finds the hem of her t-shirt and lifts it up and over her head. When he tosses it aside and buries his face in her throat to suck on the skin over her pulsepoint, she realizes she’s not the only one who can incite a gasp.

His hand slides to the clasp of her bra, but he doesn’t flick it open. “Here?” he whispers.

“Upstairs,” she whispers back, because she can’t handle the idea of Trixie watching the Disney Channel on a couch where her mother screwed the Devil. 

She doesn’t have to tell him twice. He stands up, folds her legs snugly around his waist, and carries her upstairs. He kisses the hell out of her while he walks, and by the time they collapse onto her bed, she feels drunk on him.

He flicks his fingers over her back, and she feels the tension in her bra finally release. He’s got it off of her in record time, and his mouth on her a moment later. She chokes on her breath and swallows a moan.

“House is empty,” he whispers against her skin. His hands find her belt. “No need to be quiet, Detective.”

She’s not.


	5. Five

Chloe wakes the next morning to an empty bed. 

It takes her a second to find coherency. She blinks at the alarm clock. It’s just before eight. She sighs and curses her internal alarm clock for not letting her sleep later on a Sunday. She rolls over, seeking Lucifer’s warmth, and finds nothing but cold sheets and an empty pillow. 

For a brief, terrible moment, she thinks he’s left her again. She closes her eyes and she’s right back on the penthouse balcony, begging him not to leave, and he’s stroking his hand over her cheek and saying goodbye. It hurts like hell. 

And then she remembers last night. She hears the sound of clanging pots and pans, and she opens her eyes. She can smell coffee, and hear the distant sound of…

Is he playing opera in her kitchen right now? 

She rubs her eyes and sighs. Of _course_ he listens to opera in the morning. Of course he does. 

She gets out of bed and pulls on a faded LAPD t-shirt and a pair of shorts from a drawer in her dresser. It feels chilly, so she tugs on a zip-up sweatshirt that was draped over the chair nearby. She heads for the bathroom next. She brushes her teeth, pulls her hair back into a messy bun, and then finally heads for the stairs, still rubbing sleep from her eyes. 

The music gets louder the closer she gets to the kitchen. It’s definitely opera. She has no idea which one, though. She’s not really an opera person. She doesn’t _dislike_ it. She’s just never really paid attention to it. 

She has a feeling Lucifer is going to try to change that. 

When she gets to the bottom of the stairs, she stops. Lucifer is wearing his suit pants and the shirt she took off him last night, but he’s only got two buttons fastened. She wonders if those are the only two buttons left because she ripped the others off in her haste last night. His hair is mussed, which is also her fault. Although, maybe not. If he wasn’t so damn good with his mouth, then she wouldn’t feel the need to grab fistfuls of his hair. 

He’s grating cheese over a bowl with a look of intense concentration. He’s also singing—in Italian, she thinks—along with the baritone voice wailing from the speaker on his phone. 

She smiles. She can’t help it. The Devil is in her kitchen, grating cheese and singing opera, and it’s just...it’s really adorable.

He looks up, spots her, and freezes like he’s been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. “Detective,” he says. And then he scrambles for his phone, and the operatic wailing ceases. 

“Hi,” she says. 

“Did I wake you?” he asks, setting down the cheese grater. “My apologies, I didn’t realize it was that loud.”

“It wasn’t.”

She’s still grinning. He notices. 

“What?”

“Nothing,” she says, lifting her shoulder. “You’re just...kind of adorable.”

He looks appalled. “I beg your pardon,” he says, straightening to his full height. “I am the Lord of Hell, Detective. I am _not_ adorable.”

“Mhmm,” she says as she wanders past him to the coffee maker. “Sure.” She opens the cupboard to grab the coffee and a mug.

“What are you doing?” he demands.

She casts a look at him over her shoulder. “Making coffee.”

“No, no, no,” he says, striding across the kitchen and grabbing her by the shoulders. He guides her to the peninsula and deposits her on a chair. “You sit.”

“Lucifer—” 

“I have espresso,” he cuts her off, lifting his index finger as he walks away. “I will make you a latte.”

“I don’t have…” She trails off when she realizes there’s an espresso machine sitting on the counter next to her microwave. “Why is there an espresso machine in my kitchen?”

“Isn’t it gorgeous?” he says excitedly, turning around to beam at her from next to the shiny new machine. “I had it delivered earlier.”

Chloe frowns. “But...why?”

“Well so I could make you a latte, obviously,” he says, rolling his eyes as if she’s just asked a ridiculous question. “Your offspring specifically requested breakfast Lucifer-style, and I had to make sure you had all the proper equipment. I’d hate to disappoint the little urchin. I have a reputation to maintain, you know.”

Chloe’s frown deepens. “But I didn’t…” And then she realizes he said _equipment._ Like, there’s more. “Wait,” she says. “What else did you order?”

“Oh nothing much,” he says, waving his hand dismissively. “Panini press, waffle maker, a cast iron skillet. That last one was on backorder, actually, but I wanted a certain brand. I am very particular about my cast irons.”

“Right, of course,” Chloe says. “Who wouldn’t be?”

“Exactly,” he agrees, her sarcasm flying straight over his head. “Oh, and I ordered this delightful little contraption that poaches eggs perfectly. Honestly, I’ve never seen such sorcery. And I’m friends with several sorcerers, mind you.”

Chloe nods. “Sure. Of course you are.”

Lucifer finally seems to realize that she’s not sharing in his enthusiasm. “You’re displeased.”

“No,” she disagrees. “I’m just uh…” She scratches the back of her head. Her brain feels like it’s short-circuiting. Later, she’ll have to talk to him about this new impulse he has to buy her stuff. But for right now…

“I need some coffee.”

He snaps to attention. “Right. Of course. One moment.”

She watches him bustle through her kitchen, grabbing milk from the fridge and a mug from the cupboard. He’s whistling. She thinks it’s the same song he was singing when she came downstairs. 

“What is that you’re whistling?” she asks.

“La Traviata,” he tells her as he fusses with the espresso machine. “I first saw it in London at Her Majesty’s Theater in 1856. Would have been a terribly boring vacation if not for that show. You know the Church tried to order an injunction against it? Quite the scandal. It was morally questionable, or so they said, so naturally I had to see it for myself. And wouldn’t you know, I quite enjoyed it. And not just because of its scandalous nature. It’s a lovely story, albeit tragic. You would have enjoyed it, I think. Ms. Lopez certainly did.”

Chloe frowns. “Ella? When did Ella go to the opera?”

Lucifer freezes. “Oh,” he says. “Um...a few months ago, I believe.” 

“Huh,” Chloe says, folding her arms on the counter. “I wouldn’t have pegged her as an opera girl.”

“I think she came into the tickets unexpectedly,” he murmurs. He spins to face her. “Did you sleep well?”

“Yeah,” she says, fiddling with the strings of her sweatshirt. “Did you?”

He grins. “Well how could I not, sleeping next to you?”

She smiles. “So no snoring then?”

“Well I didn’t say _that,_ ” he says. “There was an incident around two when I was certain you were going to wake the whole neighborhood. But I’m nothing if not a considerate neighbor, so I took it upon myself to hush you.”

Chloe frowns. “What does that mean?”

“Why I woke you up, darling,” he says. “For round two.” He flicks his gaze over her with a smirk. “Well, round two for me. Round four for you, wasn’t it?”

Chloe can feel her face flushing. “Yeah,” she says. “Something like that.”

He shoots her a wicked grin, and then turns back to the espresso machine. It whirs to life, and she watches as he bends forward and steams the milk with practiced precision. He’s whistling again. She can’t take her eyes off him. She likes the way he looks in her kitchen.

“I didn’t realize you were a morning person,” she says after a while.

“Depends on how much alcohol I enjoyed the previous night,” he says, sending her a roguish wink over his shoulder. “You are though, aren’t you? You’ve always seemed to be.”

“I am,” she confirms. “Having a kid makes you one whether you want to be or not. But I’m usually not really awake until I’ve had some…”

She trails off as he sets a mug in front of her. It’s a latte. And there’s a perfect heart in the middle of the foam. Her heart flutters in her chest. Who knew the Devil was so sweet?

She looks up at him. “Cute.”

“Thank you,” he says, preening.

“I meant the latte heart.”

“Oh.”

She presses her lips together so she won’t laugh at his disappointment. Then she reaches across the counter, grabs a fistful of his shirt, and tugs him toward her so she can kiss him. It’s short, chaste and sweet, and when she pulls back she smiles.

“But you’re cute too,” she murmurs.

He smiles as though she’s just told him he’s won the lottery. “I am rather fetching, aren’t I?”

She rolls her eyes and lets go of his shirt. She lifts the mug to her mouth, sips, and then sighs. It tastes awesome.

“Good?” he asks.

“Very good,” she confirms. “But I’m sure you knew it would be.”

“Of course I did, I made it.” He claps his hands together. “Now then. Breakfast.”

“I can help.”

“You most certainly will not,” he says. “You will sit there and sip your latte and look pretty.” He winks at her. “Shouldn’t be too difficult for you.”

She grins at him. He turns away from her and heads back to the island, where he has food strewn across the counter. She’s opening her mouth to ask him what he’s making when she remembers something.

“Shit,” she says, setting her mug down.

He frowns at her. “What is it?”

“I never even asked,” she says, pressing her hand to her forehead. “I’m so sorry, Lucifer. How’d the rest of family dinner go?”

“Ah,” he says. “That.”

Chloe crinkles her nose. “Was it that bad?”

“Well it wasn’t good,” he says, reaching for a knife. “But I suppose it could have been worse. Everyone was rather sheepish after you left. It put a damper on any further arguments. I think my father even felt guilty. It was quite a new emotion for him, I’m sure.”

Chloe blinks. She made God feel _guilty?_

Wow.

“So did he make his big announcement?” she asks, lifting her mug to her lips. 

Lucifer pauses with the knife over a bunch of fresh herbs. His hand hovers in the air for a second or two, but he doesn’t reply. 

Chloe frowns. “Lucifer?”

He sets the knife down and looks at her. “He’s retiring.”

Chloe stares at him. He stares back at her patiently, like he recognizes what an absurd thing he’s just said. 

“What?” she says eventually.

Lucifer sighs. “Precisely what I said.”

Chloe shakes her head. “I don’t understand. How can he... _why_ would he…?”

Lucifer nods. “Yes, yes, _exactly._ It’s not as if he does any _work._ Retiring from Hell is one thing. I have an actual _job_ to do. Monitor the loops, change things up every once in a while just to make sure the punishments stay fresh. And managing the demons, of course. Which, honestly...I mean, you’ve met Mazikeen. Imagine millions of her. It’s never ending. I’ve really got my hands full.”

“Sure,” Chloe says. Her ears are ringing. She’s never really asked him what he does down there. Now that she’s finding out, she has _so_ many questions.

Lucifer seems oblivious to her confusion. “But _Dad?_ ” he says. “He doesn’t _do_ anything. Just sits up there and treats you lot like his own personal game of _The Sims,_ and it’s not like _that’s_ bloody difficult. You’re all more than capable of feeding yourselves and relieving yourselves without his interference.”

Chloe frowns over the rim of her mug. She’s not sure if she should be offended by the suggestion that she’s a Sim. 

“And even when he wants something done, he doesn’t have to do any of the work himself. He sends one of his little minions to do it.”

“You mean your brothers and sisters?” Chloe asks. “Did you just call your siblings _minions?_ ”

“Well not the fat little yellow ones, obviously,” he says. “Although it’d be an upgrade for some of them,” he mutters as an afterthought. 

Chloe shakes her head to dismiss the stubborn image of Amenadiel and Michael dressed like minions. “I don’t understand,” she says. “If he’s retiring, then who’s going to be...you know, _God?_ ”

“Oh that’s the best part,” Lucifer sneers. “He wants one of _us_ to do it.”

“One of...who?”

“Amenadiel, Michael, and myself. He wants to pass along his infernal creation to one of his _sons_. As if the world were a bloody auto mechanic shop and we’re his greasy offspring who are eager to assume the family business.”

“That’s...quite a vision,” Chloe says. Suddenly all she can think about is Lucifer in coveralls with black streaks on his face. It’s not the worst thing she’s ever imagined. 

“You should have heard him,” Lucifer rages, his hands still flying. “I’d like to entrust humans to one of my sons who know them best,” he says, dipping his voice into a passable impression of his father. “Someone who _understands_ them for who they _are._ ”

Chloe frowns. “Doesn’t Michael’s rant about how awful humans are kind of disqualify him?”

“You would bloody well think so, wouldn’t you?” Lucifer snaps. “But noooo, Michael deserves _mercy_ because he was speaking from a place of _concern._ He has everyone’s best interests at heart, apparently. Utter bollocks.”

Lucifer’s breathing has picked up a little, and the hand that’s not holding a knife is curled into a tight fist. He’s clearly trying not to lose his temper, and it’s clearly not working.

“What about you?” Chloe asks, hoping to steer the conversation somewhere else. 

He looks at her. “What about me?”

“Well do you...I mean, do you want to be in charge of earth?”

“Are you joking?” he says. “I would rather make bracelets with Daniel for the rest of eternity. I would rather don one of those ridiculous getups Ms. Lopez loves and follow her into a sea of similarly clad nerd virgins who think the epitome of sexiness is knowing a fake language. I would rather listen to Amenadiel read the dictionary while he—”

“Okay, okay,” Chloe cuts him off. “I get it.”

Lucifer stops, blinks, and then sighs. “My apologies, Detective. I didn’t mean to shout at you. I just…” He sighs again.

“He’s not really retiring though, right?” Chloe says. “I mean this is, like, one of his manipulations? Or a test?”

“Well that’s the million dollar question, isn’t it?” Lucifer says. He flips the knife in his hand casually the way a professional chef might, and then he starts slicing the herbs on the cutting board extremely fast without actually looking down at them. 

“I’m inclined to assume that the whole thing is an utter sham. It’s precisely the kind of—OW! _Damn_ it.”

The knife clatters onto the cutting board, and Lucifer hunches over his hand with a pained hiss. 

“Lucifer?” Chloe says, getting to her feet. “Are you okay?”

He doesn’t answer her, but she doesn’t wait for an answer. She rounds the corner of the peninsula and reaches for him. He flinches at her touch. She pulls her hand back.

“Sorry, I…”

She trails off when he turns to face her and she sees that the hand he’s cradling to his chest is bleeding. There’s a brilliant red stain on his white shirt.

“You’re bleeding,” she says in shock. 

He’s staring down at his hand like he’s equally stunned. 

“I thought…?” she says.

“As did I,” he breathes, looking up at her. 

They stare at each other for a moment, speechless. And then Chloe’s cop instincts kick in, and she wraps her fingers around his forearm and tugs him toward the sink. She flips the faucet on cold, and shoves his finger beneath the water. 

“Hold it there,” she orders.

He obeys as she bends down to grab the first aid kit she keeps beneath the sink. She flicks it open and sets it on the counter. She grabs an antiseptic wipe, and then a few band-aids, and then rips a paper towel off the roll nearby. She turns the faucet off, and then bends forward so she can study the index finger of his left hand. 

It’s a long gash, but not deep enough to need stitches. It’ll scar, but he’ll be okay. 

She dabs at the wound with the paper towel, and then rips the antiseptic wipe packet open with her teeth. She cleans the cut carefully, and then wraps his finger with bandages tightly enough to apply some pressure. 

When she glances up at him, she finds him watching her intently. 

“You okay?” she asks.

He nods wordlessly. His gaze is flickering over her face like he’s trying to understand something, but she doesn’t know what.

“Lucifer?” she prompts. 

He swallows. “You’re quite good at that,” he says quietly.

She frowns. “At cleaning cuts? I guess. Trixie’s pretty active. I’ve dealt with my fair share of skinned elbows and knees.”

“Of course,” he says, finally looking away from her. 

“Hey,” she says, reaching out to touch his arm. He looks up at her. She tilts her head. “What is it?”

He shakes his head. “Nothing. I’m just...well, I’m not accustomed to being…”

He doesn’t finish, but she thinks she knows what he was going to say. Her heart squeezes in her chest. 

“Taken care of,” she finishes for him softly.

He nods. “Indeed.”

For a second, all she can think about is how lonely he must have been down in Hell for thousands of years. It makes her heart ache. She lifts her hand to his face. His stubble is rough against her skin. 

“Well get used to it,” she murmurs.

He smiles. She’s seen him smile a million times, but there’s so much joy shining in his eyes that this one feels different. It’s contagious. She can feel it in her chest, a warmth that’s starting to feel familiar in the very best way. And while she hates to be the reason he stops smiling, she can’t help but wonder…

“Why are you vulnerable again?” she asks.

As she expected, his smile fades. “Your guess is as good as mine, Detective,” he sighs. “Perhaps it has to do with my father.”

“You mean being emotionally vulnerable with me about what happened at dinner made you physically vulnerable too?”

He looks up at her with a frown. “Actually, I was thinking his presence on earth makes me feel vulnerable.”

“Oh. Right. Of course. That makes way more sense.”

“You were hoping it was because of you?”

She shakes her head. “No.”

He lifts his eyebrows. 

“Maybe,” she amends. Her face is heating up. She feels...needy. She hates feeling needy.

“It’s certainly possible it was you,” he says. “I _was_ choosing to tell you how I felt. I wanted to be vulnerable with you.”

He doesn’t lie, but she can’t help but feel like he’s trying to placate her.

“It’s fine,” she tells him. “What you said before is probably right.”

He searches her eyes. “Perhaps we should finish our discussion from the other day. I don’t wish to make you feel—”

“No,” she cuts him off, shaking her head. “I don’t...I mean, I told you we could wait. And family dinner is over, but the family drama isn’t, so let’s just...wait. I can wait. It’s no big deal.”

He studies her for a minute, and then nods. “All right.” And then his gaze shifts over her shoulder, and he winces. “I’m afraid I’ve bled all over breakfast.”

Chloe turns and sees that there’s blood on the herbs. “Oh,” she says. “Yeah.” She turns back to face him. “Do you really need those?”

“I’m afraid they’re vital, yes.”

“What were you making?”

He looks suddenly uncomfortable. “I thought I’d try my hand at your father’s sandwich.”

She stares at him. 

“It’s your favorite,” he explains, sounding almost defensive. “And I know the child is also very fond of them, and I thought that if I was going to spend my mornings here then it might behoove me to...well, master the craft, so to speak.”

For a second, all Chloe can do is keep staring at him. Just when she thinks she’s got him all figured out, he goes and does something like this. 

“You know,” she finally says, leaning closer to him, “for someone who’s never been in a serious relationship, you’re pretty good at it.”

His eyes light up. “Really?”

“Yeah,” she says, unable to stop a grin. “Who knew the Devil was such a romantic?”

He frowns. “I wasn’t aware egg sandwiches were romantic.”

“They’re not,” she laughs. “It’s the thought behind it, Lucifer. You were doing something for me because you knew I would like it. You wanted me to feel special.”

“Well you are special,” he says, his brow furrowed. 

She smiles and drapes her arms around his neck. “I think you’re special too.”

“Well of course you do, Detective. Everyone does. I’m me.”

Chloe sighs. “No one ruins a moment like you, that’s for sure.”

Her phone blares on the counter behind her. She disentangles herself from Lucifer and grabs it to check the caller ID.

“Except maybe Ella,” she amends. She lifts the phone to her ear. “Good morning, Ella.”

“Deckerrrr,” Ella says on the other end of the line. “Girl, I am _so_ sorry. I didn’t even realize how early it was. I just got caught up in the moment and called to tell you the good news, and the phone was already ringing by the time I realized it’s, like, the crack of dawn on the weekend. Seriously, I am _so_ sorry. I’ll let you go back to sleep.”

“No, it’s fine,” Chloe assures her, reaching for her latte. “I was already awake. What’s the good news?”

“I found _sweat._ ”

Chloe crinkles her nose. “Um. What?”

“Sorry, sorry, let me back up. I was running tests on the knife. No usable fingerprints on the handle, unfortunately. Smudged mess. I think the killer tried to wipe it clean. But he or she didn’t do a very good job, because I found some sweat.” 

“Can you pull DNA from it?”

“Yep, running the test now. But that’s not even the best part.”

“What’s the best part?

“I found trace amounts of acrylo-nitrile and butadiene.”

“I...have no idea what that means.”

“Gloves, Decker. It’s what they use to make surgical gloves. Well, specifically nitrile gloves. An alternative to latex.”

Chloe frowns. “Wait. How did you find sweat if the killer was wearing gloves?”

“Because the killer wasn’t wearing gloves when he stabbed Dr. Erickson. The glove traces were on his skin from previous contact. When he touched the knife with his bare hand, he left behind sweat and glove residue.”

Chloe purses her lips. “Our victim was a surgeon. He worked with people who regularly wear surgical gloves. So it’s possible his murderer was one of his colleagues.”

“Yep,” Ella says cheerfully.

Chloe turns around to face Lucifer. “Hey,” she calls. He looks up from the cutting board he was cleaning. “I need to go to UCLA Medical Center for the case. You want to come?”

Lucifer looks offended that she’d even ask. “Well of course I do. We’re partners, aren’t we?” He sets the cutting board down and smirks at her. “I’ll have to stop at home first though. It seems I only have two working buttons on my shirt thanks to your eagerness last night.”

Chloe is opening her mouth to point out that she’s not the only one who was eager, but before she can get the words out, Ella cackles in her ear.

“Ooh, get it, Decker. You ride that British cowboy.”

Chloe rolls her eyes. “Okay, I’m hanging up now.”

“Going to rip off the other two buttons?” Ella asks gleefully. 

“Good _bye,_ Ella.” 

Chloe hangs up the phone and looks at Lucifer. He’s grinning at her. 

“Shut up,” she tells him.

He leers at her. “That’s not what you said last night.”

He’s right, but Chloe doesn’t feel the need to acknowledge it. She heads for the stairs. “Keep talking and you won’t be allowed to join me in the shower.”

Lucifer’s grin turns devilish. “I’m sure I can find a way to keep my mouth otherwise occupied.”

* * *

As it turns out, Chloe was right: James Erickson was murdered by a colleague. 

It takes them a little more than twenty-fours to prove it. Chloe thinks it’s probably a record for them. Their solve rate is impressive, but she’s detail-oriented enough that she doesn’t rush if she doesn’t have to. She’s more interested in solving cases properly than solving them quickly. This case, though—this is the closest to open-and-shut she’s gotten in years. 

Things don’t look great for them at first. UCLA Medical Center has a lot of staff, and they’re all very protective of the hospital’s reputation. That means she gets a lot of _Dr. Erickson was a great guy and an even better surgeon, we want to help however we can_ followed by _Sorry, we can’t tell you that._

Lucifer, of course, doesn’t put up with being stonewalled. Every time Chloe hits a brick wall, her partner steps in with a smile and a _Tell me, what is it you desire?_ purr that turns everyone except her into a pile of babbling mush. 

By Monday morning, they’ve made a series of very interesting discoveries. First, they find out that their victim’s almost-fiancee, Kendra Harris, is the Director of Media Relations for the entire UCLA Health system. Next, they find out that James and Kendra were something of a power couple. Kendra is known as “the media whisperer” and James was a surgical prodigy. Between the two of them, they catapulted the hospital to the top of the national rankings and fundraised millions of dollars. _Hell of a team,_ one of the hospital administrators tells Chloe.

But it’s the third discovery that’s the real kicker. Apparently Kendra wasn’t single when she first met James. Her ex-boyfriend, Dr. Christopher Cohen, is the second best neurosurgeon at UCLA. And the best? Well that would be the recently deceased James Erickson. 

Lucifer, naturally, finds a way to make the revelation all about himself. Or, rather, them. 

“Detective,” he says, wrapping his fingers around her elbow as they walk away from the nurse who just spilled the beans about the love triangle. “Do you know what this means?”

“That hospitals are more like _Grey’s Anatomy_ than I thought?” she replies.

“No,” he scoffs. “Although, I once had a threesome with two orthopedic residents who were very—”

“Lucifer, I _really_ don’t want to hear about your threesomes.”

“Right,” he says. “Apologies. What I was trying to say was that our dearly departed Dr. Erickson and his pretty media mogul girlfriend are just like us.”

Chloe frowns. “How?”

“Think about it. Ms. Harris is smart and beautiful and good at her job, but her life is missing something. She isn’t quite sure what, though deep down she knows that her mediocre surgeon boyfriend isn’t fulfilling her deepest desires. And then in walks the dashing Dr. Erickson.”

“Are you Dr. Erickson in this analogy?” Chloe asks, arching an eyebrow.

“Yes, of course,” he says impatiently. “He sweeps her off her feet with his unparalleled skill and devastating charm, and she is immediately smitten. Love at first sight. Head over heels. You know, all the bloody cliches. She ditches her douchey ex, and she and James fall madly in love, which drives her pitiful ex to murder the man he views as responsible for his pathetic existence.”

Chloe stops walking and folds her arms. “So you’re saying Dr. Cohen is Dan.”

“Precisely,” Lucifer says with a grin. “Except unfortunately for Daniel, I’m bulletproof. Well, most of the time. Regardless, the analogy doesn’t _exactly_ fit, but it’s very close.”

“Yeah, except for one thing.”

“What’s that?”

“I didn’t fall in love with you the first time I saw you. In fact, I thought you were—”

“Yes, yes, repulsive on a chemical level,” he says, waving her off. “I remember.” He smirks at her and sidles closer. “But there’s no need to pretend anymore, Detective. We’re together now. You can admit that you were drawn to me, even if you didn’t like it.”

Chloe stares up at him. “You really believe that, don’t you?”

His smirk deepens. “You might be immune to my mojo, darling, but I’ve spent centuries studying women. I know desire when I see it. You wanted me.”

“Riiight,” she says. She pats him on his chest. “You keep telling yourself that.”

She turns on her heel and walks away from him. She can hear him sputtering behind her, and she presses her lips together to stop a smile.

It doesn’t take him long to catch up to her again. He’s fast when he wants to be. 

“Detective.”

“Hm?”

“I think it’s been established that we always tell each other the truth.”

“Yeah.”

“So you should tell me the truth.”

“Pretty sure I just did.”

He makes a strangled huffing noise and she has to press her lips together again. 

“At least admit you found me interesting,” he says with a bit of a whine.

She lifts a shoulder. “Sure. I found you interesting.”

“In a sexy way?”

“In a what-the-hell-is-wrong-with-this-dude way.”

“ _Detective._ ”

He sounds genuinely horrified, and Chloe takes pity on him. She stops walking and turns to face him. 

“Lucifer, that was a long time ago. Like you said, we’re together now. So who cares what I thought back then?”

“Well I do. You’re saying you despised me.”

She tilts her head. “Despised seems a little strong.”

“What would you call it then?”

“Annoyed? Exasperated? And anyway, why are you so surprised? I could _not_ have made it clearer that you annoyed the hell out of me back then. I was rude. I rolled my eyes so much I got headaches. I _slapped_ you.”

He adjusts his suit the way he does when he’s offended. “Well I thought it was your version of foreplay.”

“I told you that hell would freeze over before I slept with you. How is that foreplay?”

“Well you slept with me eventually, didn’t you?”

Chloe’s phone rings. She glances at the caller ID, sees Ella’s name, and sends it to voicemail. She’ll call her back. 

“Why is this so important to you?” she asks Lucifer.

He lifts his chin. “It’s not.”

“You _just_ said we tell each other the truth.”

He adjusts his suit again. “I was merely making a comparison.”

“Lucifer.”

“It’s not my fault if—”

“ _Lucifer._ ”

“Well you heard them all!” he practically explodes, gesturing in the direction they just came from. “The man with the terrible off-the-rack suit said they were a hell of a team. The custodian said they were adorable. The nurse said they were soulmates. They’re just like _us,_ Detective, and I thought since we’re soulmates as well you might enjoy the comparison and say I was a good boyfriend for noticing.”

Chloe blinks at him, completely taken aback. She’s not sure what she’s more stunned by—Lucifer blurting out that he thinks they’re soulmates, or Lucifer wanting her to tell him that he’s a good boyfriend. 

Lucifer is frowning at her, frustration clear in his eyes. And then all the color drains from his face, like he suddenly realized what he just said, and he looks mortified.

“Nevermind,” he mutters, starting to brush past her. 

“Not so fast,” Chloe says, catching his arm. 

He stops. She looks up at him and waits until he meets her gaze to speak. It takes a few seconds, but eventually he does.

“You think we’re soulmates?” she asks softly. 

“Well _obviously,_ ” he huffs. And then he furrows his eyebrows. “Don’t you?”

“Well yeah,” she says, letting go of his arm. “I just...didn’t know you did.”

He looks bewildered. He opens his mouth, but Chloe’s phone rings again. She startles at the sound, and then glances down at the screen. 

“It’s Ella,” she says, looking up at Lucifer. “She only double calls when it’s important.”

Lucifer gestures for her to answer. “By all means.”

Chloe hesitates, but puts the phone to her ear. “What’s up, Ella?”

Ella doesn’t even greet her. “Thanks to a bone marrow drive the hospital did last year, I got you a match on the sweat DNA,” she says breathlessly. “I know who our killer is. Any guesses?”

“Dr. Christopher Cohen.”

“Daaaang, Decker. Look at you go. You don’t even need me.”

Chloe smiles. “We both know that’s not true. You’re sure?”

“Positive.”

“All right. We’ll go pull him out of surgery and arrest him then. See you back at the precinct.”

She ends the call, and looks up at Lucifer. “Ella matched the sweat she found on the knife handle to Dr. Cohen.”

“Yes, I heard. Seems you’ll get to use your handcuffs for the only thing you ever use them for.”

She snorts, but doesn’t rise to the bait. Someday, maybe, she’ll handcuff him to his bed just to shut him up. But she won’t tell him that. It’ll be more fun to see the look of surprise on his face when she does it. 

Lucifer turns back toward the stairs they recently descended and slides his hands into his pockets. “Turned out to be a rather boring case, didn’t it?”

“Oh I don’t know about that,” Chloe says. “We got to see the medical version of us. Murder aside, that is.”

Lucifer looks up at her in surprise. Chloe smiles but doesn’t look at him. 

He grins. “Indeed.”

* * *

Chloe’s interrogated a lot of assholes during her career. 

Dr. Christopher Cohen might be the worst.

He’s arrogant. He’s snide. He’s got a lie and an excuse ready for every question she throws at him. He’s even got an explanation for how his sweat showed up on the knife.

“Jamie invited me over to ask for my blessing,” he says. “He knew he stole Kendra from me, and he wanted to make amends before he asked her to marry him. I told him it was all water under the bridge. I even helped him chop some vegetables for a salad. He was alive when I left.”

It’s an utterly ridiculous lie. But Chloe knows the justice system well enough to know that he’s planting a seed that a skilled defense attorney can exploit. If they don’t get the right prosecutor, or if even one person on the jury finds Cohen’s story somewhat believable, they’re screwed. 

She glances at Lucifer, who is sitting next to her with his legs crossed and a disgusted look on his face. He meets her gaze, and then uncrosses his legs and leans forward. 

“Tell me, Christopher,” he says, folding his hands on the table. “What—”

“It’s Dr. Cohen.”

Lucifer smiles. “Tell me, Christopher,” he repeats pointedly. “What is it you truly desire?”

Cohen sneers, but Lucifer’s staring him down. Chloe waits, glancing between them, and then the doctor’s face goes slack. “Kendra,” he murmurs. “I want her back.”

“Of course you do,” Lucifer purrs. “She’s a beautiful woman.”

“He didn’t deserve her,” Cohen says, leaning toward Lucifer like he’s being drawn forward by magnets. “He wasn’t good enough for her. I was.”

“And if you couldn’t have her, no one could, hm?”

“She was _mine,_ ” Cohen hisses. “She was mine, and he took her, so I made sure he paid for it. I—” He stops talking abruptly, and then his eyes widen. “Wait. Did I just say that out loud?”

“Sure did,” Chloe says, shutting the folder in front of her. “Sounded like a confession to me. What do you think, Lucifer?”

But Lucifer doesn’t answer. He gets to his feet, plants his palms on the stainless steel table, and bends toward the doctor. 

“She is her own person,” he snarls, his voice quivering with rage. “She made her choice, and you didn’t honor it.”

“She’s a whore,” Cohen spits.

Lucifer’s eyes flare red, and before Chloe can stop him, he shoots his hand out and wraps his fingers around Cohen’s throat. “You _maggot._ ”

“Lucifer,” Chloe says, jumping to her feet. 

Lucifer ignores her. “She didn’t belong to you,” he growls, hauling Cohen up into the air so that his feet are dangling helplessly. His chair clatters backward onto the floor behind him. “That’s not how it works. She wasn’t yours to claim.”

Cohen’s fingers claw at Lucifer’s hand, and he makes a horrible choking sound.

“Lucifer, stop!” Chloe says, grabbing his arm. “Put him _down._ ”

“As you wish, Detective,” Lucifer says coolly. He opens his hand, and Cohen drops to the floor and ends up in a heap of tangled arms and legs. 

“Are you okay?” Chloe asks Cohen, who is coughing and gasping for air.

“I’m going to sue the shit out of you,” Cohen rasps. He glares at her. “I’ll have your badge.”

Lucifer bends forward. “Oh will you?”

Cohen screams and then scrambles backward. “Get away from me!” he shouts, cowering against the far wall. “Don’t hurt me!”

“So you won’t have the Detective’s badge then,” Lucifer says, straightening.

“No!” Cohen wails. “No, I swear! I won’t do anything! Just don’t hurt me! I did it! I killed him! Take me to jail and get him away from me! Please!”

Lucifer straightens his jacket and turns toward Chloe. “Confession indeed,” he says. 

And then he disappears from the room. 

* * *

Chloe finds Lucifer at her desk. 

He’s sitting in her chair, spinning aimlessly as he plays a game on his phone. He hasn’t bothered to turn the sound off. It’s loud, but the cops around her desk don’t seem annoyed. She’s guessing they’re used to his shenanigans by now.

“Hey,” she says, stopping next to her desk.

“Detective,” he greets without looking up. 

She waits, but he doesn’t look at her. 

“We need to talk,” she says when it becomes obvious he’s not going to put his phone down and look at her without being told to. 

“About what?” he asks, his finger flicking over the screen of his phone. “The game I’m currently engaged in? It’s called _Among Us._ All the rage with the sticky-fingered youth of today, or so your offspring says. I’m playing with her right now.”

“I didn’t mean...wait, you’re playing a game with Trixie right now?”

“Indeed.”

Chloe frowns. “But she’s in school.”

“Well apparently her classes leave something to be desired because at the moment she’s otherwise occupied. She’s rather ruthless, by the way. I’m impressed. Maze must have rubbed off on her during your brief period of cohabitation.”

Chloe snatches the phone out of his hand. “She’s in _school,_ Lucifer.”

Lucifer looks offended. “Well take that up with the child, not me.”

“What I’d like to take up with you is what you just did in there,” Chloe says, gesturing at the interrogation room. “You can’t just manhandle murder suspects.”

“Can’t I?”

“No. You can’t.”

“He won’t tell anyone.”

“That’s not the point.”

“What is the point then? Is there one? Or can I return to my game?”

Chloe frowns at him. “What is _wrong_ with you? Why are you…” 

And then it hits her. What Cohen said just before Lucifer lost his temper, and what Lucifer said to him in response. 

“Well go on then,” Lucifer says, gesturing at her. “Read me the riot act, Detective. It’s clear that’s what you’d like to do. And I deserve it, obviously.”

Chloe sighs. She sets his phone down, and then sits on the edge of her desk, facing him. 

“You’re not him, Lucifer.”

Lucifer shifts in her chair. “I haven’t the slightest idea what you’re talking about.”

“Yes you do.”

He blinks at her, and then drops his gaze down to his hands and starts to turn his ring absently around his finger. Chloe watches him for a moment, trying to ignore the urge to lean forward and wrap her arms around him. She’d like to keep at least some semblance of professionalism around their work interactions. When other people are around to see them, anyway. 

She bumps his knee with hers. “Hey.”

He looks up at her.

She smiles. “I know my partner. And that guy in there? You’re nothing like him.”

Lucifer gazes at her for a moment, and then he gives her that half smile she loves. “If you insist.”

“I do.”

His smile deepens. “Very well.”

They stare at each other. Probably too long, given that she’s trying to maintain some professionalism. But just as Lucifer leans forward—most likely to say something inappropriate, if the glint in his eye is any indication—the lieutenant appears and drops a file on Chloe’s desk with a smack.

“Got another one for you, Decker.”

Chloe snaps to attention. “Another murder?”

Lieutenant Keller smirks. “Unless you joined Vice and didn’t tell me.”

“We’ve only just put the last assignment to bed,” Lucifer says, a whine creeping into his voice. “The Detective hasn’t even started the paperwork yet.”

“Sorry, Mr. Morningstar,” the lieutenant says. She’s wearing the same fond smile she always wears whenever she talks to Lucifer. “Murderers don’t care about paperwork.”

“Well they would if they had to do it,” Lucifer grumbles. 

“ _You_ don’t do it,” Chloe points out.

Lucifer straightens in her chair. “Well that doesn’t stop me from empathizing with you, Detective.”

“Very kind of you.”

“I thought so.”

Chloe rolls her eyes. 

“Uh, Detective Decker?” an unfamiliar voice says. “There’s someone here for you.”

Chloe turns around. “Who—”

She stops abruptly when she sees who’s standing next to the uniformed officer behind her. 

Lucifer wheels her chair out from behind her desk. “Who is it? You have my word that I didn’t send another strip—” He stops abruptly too. 

For a moment that seems to last forever, neither of them say a word. And then Lucifer gets slowly out of the chair, steps up next to Chloe, and says, “What the bloody hell are _you_ doing here?”

John smiles. “Hello son.”

Lucifer makes a strangled noise in reply. 

“Who’s this?” Lieutenant Keller asks. 

“Um,” Chloe starts. 

“No one,” Lucifer snaps. 

“I’m Lucifer’s father,” John says, extending his hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Keller frowns for a split second, glances at Lucifer, and then reaches out and shakes John’s offered hand. “Lieutenant Keller,” she says. And then Chloe watches as her boss’s pupils dilate, and her smile deepens, and her whole body seems to relax. “But you can call me Amanda.”

Chloe glances between them. She thinks she knows what’s happening. Keller is feeling the same warmth Chloe felt when she shook John’s hand at family dinner. Except apparently, given the adoring smile on Keller’s face, she’s feeling a little warmer than Chloe did. 

A _lot_ warmer. 

“Does your dad have mojo?” she whispers to Lucifer. 

Lucifer curls his lip. “He has _glory._ ”

Chloe frowns up at him. “Glory?”

“Glory,” Lucifer repeats darkly.

“As I said, it’s a pleasure to meet you,” John is saying to Keller. “And thank you so much for all you do to uphold justice and peace.”

Keller grins. “Well someone has to do it. Might as well be me. And believe me, the pleasure is all mine. It’s _so_ nice to meet you, Mr. Morningstar.”

Lucifer goes rigid. 

“It’s Smith,” Chloe blurts out, hoping to avoid an outburst. “They uh...they have different last names.”

“Oh, my apologies then, Mr. Smith,” Keller says. She’s still grinning broadly and she’s still holding John’s hand. “Are you from out of town?”

“Yes. I live quite far from here.”

“How long will you be staying?”

“I’m not sure yet,” John says, finally releasing Keller’s hand. “There are some factors outside my control that will determine when I return home.”

Lucifer snorts derisively. John flicks his gaze in Lucifer’s direction, but the lieutenant doesn’t seem to notice. In fact, she seems oblivious to everything and everyone except John. Chloe can’t believe it. Keller isn’t the toughest boss she’s ever had, but she’s up there. She doesn't mess around. And she sure as hell doesn’t fawn all over men she’s just met. Yet here she is, gazing at John like he’s the greatest thing she’s ever seen, and Chloe has a bad feeling about this. 

“Does the glory thing not turn off?” she mutters to Lucifer.

Lucifer clenches his jaw. “Only when he wants it to.”

“It’s so nice of you to come all this way to visit,” Keller says to John, almost on a sigh. 

“It’s been a while since I had the privilege of spending time with my son,” John replies. He folds his hands behind his back and studies his surroundings. “I was eager to see where he spends so much of his time.”

“Well, you’re more than welcome to stay as long as you like,” Keller says. “If there’s anything I can do to make your visit enjoyable, please let me know.”

John smiles. “I’m so glad you asked. There is one thing.”

Warning bells start to blare in the back of Chloe’s mind. “Um, Lieutenant? Can you give me some details on that case you just assigned to me?”

“In a minute, Decker,” Keller says, waving her off. “What can I do for you, Mr. Smith?”

“I was hoping you’d permit me to spend some time with my son and his partner. I’d be interested to see firsthand what it is they do every day and how they work together.”

“ _No,_ ” Lucifer breathes in horror.

“You mean like a ride along?” Keller says.

“Ma’am,” Chloe says, stepping forward. “I’m already responsible for one civilian consultant. I don’t think—”

“Not now, Decker,” Keller says, waving her off again. 

Lucifer makes another noise that sounds like a horrified squeak. 

“I’m not sure what a ride along is,” John admits.

“It’s like shadowing,” Keller explains. “You’d go with Detective Decker and Mr. Morningstar to their next crime scene and shadow them throughout the duration of the case. In fact, I—”

“Absolutely not,” Lucifer cuts her off, stepping forward. “You heard the Detective. She’s already responsible for me. She can’t possibly be expected to manage a second civilian.”

Keller lifts her eyebrows. “Well if you’re worried Detective Decker isn’t capable—”

“How _dare_ you,” Lucifer cuts her off. “She is the most capable detective in this precinct. Likely the entire force, given what I’ve seen. I’m merely pointing out that it’s...well, it’s against protocol.”

He glances at Chloe for help, but she just winces at him and lifts a shoulder. As far as she knows, it’s not against the rules if her supervisor approves it. 

Keller smirks. “I had no idea you were such a stickler for the rules, Mr. Morningstar.”

Lucifer sputters. “How _dare_ you,” he says for the second time in as many minutes. 

“Lieutenant,” Chloe says. “Are you sure that—”

“You’re not questioning my decision making, are you, Decker?”

Chloe swallows. “No ma’am. Not at all.”

“Wonderful,” Keller says brightly. “You two can take Mr. Smith to the crime scene of the case I just assigned you.”

Chloe and Lucifer share a look.

Keller smiles at John. “Welcome to the LAPD, Mr. Smith.”


	6. Six

Solving a murder with God is awkward.

It’s _so_ awkward.

The elevator ride down to the main floor is painful. Like, _literally_ painful. The silence is hurting Chloe’s ears. 

“Marvelous invention,” John says, glancing around the elevator with a smile. “Mankind is so innovative.”

Lucifer turns to Chloe. “Are we still doing our give and take thing?”

Chloe frowns. “Yeah. Why?”

He holds out his hand. “You should give me your gun.” 

“No,” she says, putting her hand on her hip and turning away from him. “Also, that’s not how give and take works and you know it.”

“Spoilsport,” he mutters. 

And then there’s more silence. 

When they get out of the precinct and onto the street, the sounds of the city are a welcome reprieve from the tense silence. Chloe breathes a sigh of relief. Maybe being with other people will make things less awkward. 

Or maybe not.

John doesn’t seem to fully grasp all the intricacies of being human in a busy city. He stops in the middle of the sidewalk and cranes his neck to stare up at the buildings. He stops to greet every person he passes until Lucifer grabs him by the sweater and snarls, “Just bloody _walk,_ would you?” He also has no concept of danger. Chloe has to grab him _twice_ to stop him from walking straight into oncoming traffic. 

“Bloody hell, Detective,” Lucifer says the second time. “Just let him get hit. He’ll learn.”

Chloe frowns at him, still holding the fistful of sweater she grabbed to yank John back onto the sidewalk. “I can’t let him get hit by a _car,_ Lucifer.”

“Why not?” Lucifer demands. “He’ll be fine.”

“Maybe, but do you want to explain to all these people why he doesn’t have a scratch on him?”

Lucifer purses his lips but doesn’t answer. 

Chloe looks at John. “Look both ways before you cross,” she tells him, letting go of his sweater. “They don’t stop.”

John dips his head. “Of course. I’m sorry, Chloe. Thank you for looking out for my well being.”

“Call her Detective when we’re working,” Lucifer snaps.

John smiles at Chloe. “My apologies, Detective.”

Chloe smiles back. “It’s fine. No problem.”

Lucifer exhales sharply through his nose and strides away from them, muttering darkly under his breath. 

They get to the car without any further incidents. Lucifer slams his door closed with far more force than necessary, and his furious, fuming silence from the passenger seat is suffocating. Chloe glances at John in the rearview mirror and tells him to put his seatbelt on. She doesn’t bother to tell Lucifer, but she never does. He hates seatbelts. They wrinkle his suits. 

She throws the gear shift into reverse and starts to back out of her parking spot.

“Lucifer?” John says as she does. “Aren’t you going to put your seatbelt on?”

Lucifer clenches his jaw so hard Chloe wonders if he’s going to crack his teeth.

“He doesn’t like seatbelts,” she answers for him. 

John frowns. “But surely he’d wear one if _you_ asked.”

Chloe glances at Lucifer as she shifts to drive. He’s glaring at the dashboard like he wants to burn a hole in it with his eyes. He reaches behind him, yanks his seatbelt forward, and buckles it with a forceful _click._ Chloe wonders if he did it for her or if he did it to shut his dad up. She decides it’s best not to ask, and focuses on guiding the car out of the parking deck. 

There’s more silence after that. 

It’s _so_ painful.

“You want to pick the station?” she asks Lucifer when they’re finally out on the street. 

“It’s Monday,” he says without looking at her. “Mondays are your day.”

“I can make an exception.” 

Lucifer turns to look at her with a frown. “Mondays are non-negotiable. You were quite insistent about that when we made our deal. Why would today be any different?”

Chloe isn’t sure if he’s honestly oblivious that she’s trying to make him feel better, or if he’s daring her to say it in front of his dad. She doesn’t think she wants to find out. 

“Fine,” she sighs. “90s it is.”

The last half of _Iris_ by the Goo Goo Dolls is playing, and it makes Chloe feel a little better. She loves this song. She mouths the words and bobs her head and tries to pretend she’s not trapped in a car with God and the Devil. It almost works. 

And then the song ends and the DJ comes on and says, “Up next, we’ve got *NSYNC’s _God Must Have Spent a Little More Time on You_ coming your way.” 

Chloe slams her finger on the seek button so fast the car swerves a little. The local pop station comes on, and the car is suddenly filled with Ariana Grande singing about how she wanted something and got it. Chloe turns the volume down because it suddenly feels extremely loud and she can’t remember if there’s any curse words coming up. 

She chances a glance at Lucifer. He looks like he‘s plotting something terrible. In the backseat, John looks thoughtful. 

“I’ve always liked music,” he muses.

Lucifer rolls his eyes. “No one asked. Likely because no one cares.”

John ignores him. “It makes communicating our feelings a little easier, don’t you think?”

Lucifer scowls at the window. “I don’t have feelings, so I wouldn’t know.”

It’s the kind of statement that Chloe would normally argue with him about—he definitely has feelings and that’s definitely a good thing—but she knows better than to say that in front of his father. John seems to know better too. He gazes at the back of his son’s head but doesn’t say anything. 

Time seems to inch by at a snail’s pace. The tension in the car grows increasingly stifling. Chloe has never hated L.A. traffic more than she does right now. Lucifer is doing that thing where he’s sitting perfectly still and staring straight ahead like he’s turned to stone. John is doing it too, but his stomach is growling. Loudly. 

By the time they’re sitting at their fourth red light in three minutes, Chloe can no longer ignore the fact that John’s stomach is growling so loudly that she can hear it over the radio. 

She turns in her seat to look at him. “Have you eaten today?” 

Lucifer whips his head around to look at her. Chloe ignores him. She can’t help what her mom instincts make her do, and talking about food is better than sitting in painful silence while Shawn Mendes croons about senoritas.

“I haven’t,” John says, smiling at her. “I forgot dinner last night as well, I’m afraid.”

Chloe stares at him. “You haven’t eaten in twenty four hours?”

He smiles. “I’m still growing accustomed to my human form, Ch—Detective. In my typical form, food is for pleasure, not necessity.”

Chloe blinks. Well _there’s_ a statement she never thought she’d hear. She has about a million questions about what the words _typical form_ mean, but she doesn’t dare ask.

She turns around in her seat just as the light turns green. She hits the gas and the car guns forward. 

“Let’s get you some food then,” she says, flicking on her blinker and darting into the right lane so she can turn into the McDonald’s parking lot up ahead.

Lucifer looks horrified. “ _Detective._ ”

“I wanted an iced coffee anyway,” she says with a shrug. It’s a lie, and judging by the way Lucifer narrows his eyes at her, he knows it. She pretends she doesn’t notice. God is in her backseat and he hasn’t eaten in twenty-four hours. What’s she supposed to do, let him starve?

Unsurprisingly, going to McDonald’s with God is just as much of an experience as everything else. John seems mystified by the menu. While they wait in a line of cars, Chloe patiently explains what McNuggets are, why McDonald’s apple pies aren’t like the pie Linda served the other night, and what the difference is between BBQ and ranch and honey mustard. Her kindness seems to annoy Lucifer almost as much as his father marveling over french fries in the backseat five minutes later. 

“Yes, yes, they’re delicious,” Lucifer growls, his hands curled into fists. “No one needs to hear you compose sonnets about bloody fried potatoes, Dad.”

Chloe shoots him a look. 

Lucifer glares at her. “ _What?_ ”

Chloe sips her iced coffee instead of answering him. 

By the time they finally pull into the parking lot of a football stadium at a local high school, John has finished his entire Diet Coke and he needs to go to the bathroom. Lucifer throws his hands up and sighs exasperatedly. Chloe kind of feels like sighing too—she’s having flashbacks of trying to take Trixie places when she was younger—but John is so apologetic she can’t be too upset. She has a uniformed officer escort him to the stadium bathrooms nearby. 

As soon as he’s out of earshot, she turns to face Lucifer. “Are you going to be like this the whole case?”

Lucifer straightens his suit jacket with a frown. “Like what?” 

“Like _this,_ ” she says, gesturing at him. 

“Well are you going to be like _this?_ ” he counters. 

Chloe puts her hands on her hips. “Like what?”

“You’re being so…” He gestures at her, and then at the retreating figure of his father, and then back at her and says, “ _Ugh._ ”

“Polite?” she offers. 

He huffs at her. 

“You’re mad I’m being polite.”

He narrows his eyes. “Don’t say it like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like I’m being ridiculous.”

_You are,_ she wants to say. She doesn’t. 

“It’s customary to be polite to ride alongs, Lucifer.”

“He’s not a _ride along,_ ” Lucifer practically snarls. “He’s my deadbeat dad who weaseled his way into our lives and now he’s plotting something. I can _feel_ it. Why on earth would you be polite to him?”

“Um, because I’m a polite person? And because I don’t want to get struck by lightning for being rude to God?” 

“He doesn’t use lightning, Detective. He’s not bloody Zeus. Honestly, you humans. You just mix and match your gods as you see fit. It’s appalling.” 

Chloe takes a deep breath in an attempt to control her temper. “He’s a direct assignment from my boss, Lucifer. I’m just doing my job.”

“Well it wasn’t your job to buy him lunch.”

“He was hungry.”

“I don’t _care._ ”

Chloe sighs. 

“He’s manipulating you,” Lucifer says, lifting his chin so he’s looking down his nose at her. “And you’re letting him. You’re like putty in his hands.”

“How is he manipulating me?” Chloe asks incredulously. “How does walking into traffic and needing to pee fit into his master plan?”

“Well I don’t know,” Lucifer says, fussing with his jacket again. “But it does. You don’t know him like I do, Detective. You have no idea how he works. You don’t _know._ ”

Chloe is opening her mouth to argue with him, but she thinks better of it at the last second. The truth is, he’s right. She _doesn’t_ know his dad the way he does. John might look like a librarian with a fondness for puzzles, but he’s not. He’s God, and Lucifer has plenty of justifiable reasons to be angry with him. Their relationship has millennia of baggage and pain that Chloe can’t even begin to understand. It’s not fair for her to expect Lucifer to pretend like everything is fine just so she doesn’t feel awkward. 

“Okay,” she tells him. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

Lucifer blinks at her. “I...what?”

“You’re right,” she repeats. “I don’t know him. Maybe he is manipulating me—”

“ _Thank_ you.”

“—but even if he is, I need to keep being polite.”

Lucifer frowns. “But _why?_ I thought you were on my side.”

“I _am_ on your side, Lucifer. But I also have a job to do. You might be able to act however you want, but I can’t. If I’m rude to him people will notice, and they’ll tell Keller, and I’ll be screwed. Or suspended. Or both.”

“Fine, we’ll meet in the middle. We can leave him at the Rite Aid on the corner and drive away and never look back.”

Chloe smiles. “That’s tempting, but I don’t think that would keep your dad away. I have a feeling he’d just pop right back up.”

Lucifer curls his lip. “Like a bad penny,” he mutters. “Or a demonic whack-a-mole.”

Chloe laughs. “Yeah.”

Lucifer sighs and looks out over the football field. Despite the California sun, there are shadows in his eyes. Chloe thinks about the way he looked yesterday morning when he told her that he wasn’t used to someone taking care of him, and her heart aches. 

“Lucifer,” she murmurs, stepping into his space. 

He looks down at her. She reaches out to brush her fingertips briefly over his knuckles because she wants to touch him and that’s the only way she can think of that won’t catch the attention of a nosy colleague. 

“I’m on your side, okay? I’m _always_ on your side. Being polite to your dad doesn’t change that. Nothing can change that. Ever. I promise.”

He gazes down at her, and then a hint of a smile tugs on his lips. “You give me your word?”

“Yeah. And my word is my bond, you know.”

His lips break into a real smile. “I think you’re mocking me, Detective.”

“Oh I would _never,_ ” she says in mock seriousness.

He leans a little closer to her. “How do we feel about PDA at crime scenes?”

“Probably not a good idea.”

His eyes flick down toward her mouth. “Pity.”

Chloe is opening her mouth to agree when Dan appears.

“So are you guys going to do some work today, or are you too busy making heart eyes at each other to solve murders?”

Chloe presses her lips together around a smile and takes a step back from Lucifer so they’re a more respectable distance apart.

“Well if it isn’t Detective Cockblock,” Lucifer says. “You’re looking particularly boy band-ish today, Daniel. Planning to audition for _The Voice_ later?”

Chloe snorts. 

Dan shoots her a look. “Nice.”

“Come now, Daniel, you can’t be upset at the Detective for finding me amusing,” Lucifer says with a grin. “We all know my rapier wit is one of my sexier qualities.”

“Gross, man,” Dan says. He looks at Chloe. “I’ve got some info for you, but you probably want to talk to Ella first.”

Chloe nods. “Okay. Can you…” She trails off when she glances past him and sees that a crowd is starting to form around John on the far end of the football field. “Um. Lucifer?”

“Yes, Detective?” 

She nods at John. “Your dad is…drawing a crowd.” 

Lucifer frowns and turns around to follow her gaze. “Bloody hell,” he sighs when he sees what’s happening. “Excuse me, Detective. No need to wait, I’ll catch up.” He strides in his father’s direction, muttering under his breath about how this is just like Pompeii. 

Dan leans toward Chloe. “Did you just say _dad?_ ” 

“Yep.”

“As in…?”

“Yep.”

“Wow.”

“No kidding.”

A beat passes, and then Dan says, “Should I be worried?”

Chloe frowns at him. “Why would you be worried?”

“Well for a while Charlotte was…and we kind of...”

“Oh. Right.” And then Chloe grins. “Yeah, maybe don’t tell God you slept with his wife.”

Dan nods. “Yeah. Good plan.”

* * *

Things go from awkward to weird real quick after that, and it’s not just because John says, “You’re one of the humans who slept with my wife” ten seconds after Lucifer introduces him to Dan. It’s not because Ella and John are best friends within two minutes. (“You give the best hugs _ever!_ ” Ella announces, and Lucifer looks like he can’t decide whether he’s jealous or disgusted or both.) It’s not because the football coach recognizes Chloe from _Hot Tub High School_ and can’t stop staring at her chest, either. 

It’s the singing. 

For the record, Chloe doesn’t actually _know_ she’s singing. She doesn’t remember doing it either. She has a weird ringing in her ears all of a sudden, and an odd sort of warmth in her chest, but she assumes it’s just from the stress of the last few days and shrugs it off.

Later, when they’re leaving and Lucifer pulls her aside and demands to know why she isn’t freaking out about how unprofessional it was that they all just broke into song and dance around a dead body—which also did some dancing, apparently—she thinks he’s lost his mind. 

“I’m sorry, what?”

“Singing,” he repeats. “Dancing. All of you. Ms. Lopez. Detective Douche. The band, the cheerleaders, the football players. It was like a bloody _High School Musical_ number. Well, except for _your_ shenanigans, which I’m certain the Disney Channel would frown upon.”

“My _what?_ ” 

“Why, you bent _over,_ Detective,” he says. “Right in front of me. You put your rear end right up against my—”

“Okay,” Chloe cuts him off. And then she sees what he’s doing with his hand and his crotch and she smacks his arm. “Quit touching yourself at work.”

“I was only demonstrating what you just did with your _ass,_ ” he insists.

A crime scene tech walks by and gives them a weird look. Chloe can feel her face heating up. She grabs Lucifer by the arm and yanks him underneath the bleachers and out of sight. 

“Oh my, Detective,” he purrs at her while she does. “Eager to finish what you started on the fifty yard line? Very naughty. I approve.” 

“No,” she says, turning to face him with a stern look. “I’m trying to figure out what the hell my partner is ranting about. What do you mean we were singing?”

“I mean you were singing. And dancing. Honestly, I don’t know how else to explain it. There are no smaller words.”

“I don’t need smaller words, you jackass.”

He grins. “You know I love it when you talk dirty.”

“You’re not messing with me, are you?”

“Why would I...for Dad’s sake, Detective, no. I’m not _messing_ with you. Everyone broke into spontaneous song and dance and then returned to their regularly scheduled programming as if nothing happened. It was bizarre. And I say that as someone who typically _enjoys_ the bizarre.”

Chloe feels like her brain is short circuiting. “Why would we do that?”

“Well you tell me. _You_ were the ones doing it. I only joined in because, you know, when in Rome.” 

“Right,” Chloe says. “Is this...I mean, could Michael have done this?” 

“Well I don’t know why he would. He doesn’t have much of a sense of humor, and as far as I know he’s not particularly interested in…” He trails off, and his eyes widen. “Wait a minute.”

“What?” 

“I know what this is.”

“You do?”

“Yes, of course.” He holds out his arms. “It’s my _father,_ Detective.”

Chloe frowns. “Um...what?”

“This is his next move,” Lucifer says, more to himself than to her. He strokes his chin, and then he cackles so loud it echoes off the metal bleachers. “Oh, _very_ clever, Dad. Throwing me off my game with some Queen and a little exhibitionism from the Detective. Well, two can play at that game.”

“Queen?” Chloe repeats.

“Yes. _Another One Bites The Dust,_ specifically.”

Chloe tilts her head. “You’re telling me we all stood over a dead body and sang _Another One Bites The Dust?_ ”

“Indeed,” Lucifer confirms. “It’s very on the nose, but that’s Dad for you.”

“This is crazy,” Chloe says, lifting her hands to press her fingers to her temples. “I can’t even...god, I need a drink.”

She expects Lucifer to offer her his flask or say something about how his dad frowns upon drinking on the job, but he doesn’t. He grabs her shoulders and grins instead. 

“He has no idea we figured it out, Detective. This is _excellent._ We can use it to our advantage. Really mess with his mind. Oh, Maze would be so jealous if she were here. And if I were still speaking to her. Which, obviously, I am not.”

Chloe frowns. “What are you talking about?” 

“Why, beating my dad at his own game, of course!” Lucifer says, his eyes glinting with excitement. “If he wants to sing, then we’ll sing. We’ll have a bloody celestial karaoke jam!”

He laughs again, and then releases her shoulders and strides out from under the bleachers with a maniacal grin on his face. 

Chloe stares after him, completely dumbfounded. 

“Celestial karaoke jam,” she mutters. “Great.”

* * *

It takes Chloe the next four days to crack the case.

Under normal circumstances, that wouldn’t bother her. Four days isn’t that long for a cop as detailed oriented as she is. She’s had cases that took far longer to crack. Hell, it took _forever_ to get to the truth about Palmetto. But Palmetto, as awful as it was, didn’t involve randomly breaking into song and dance at the drop of a hat. 

She thinks it’s the not knowing that’s driving her nuts. If she knew she was singing and couldn’t help it, that’d be one thing. But she doesn’t even know she’s doing it. She just has this _feeling_ when she’s done. If Lucifer is there, she can look at him with her eyebrows raised and he’ll nod at her to confirm that she was, indeed, singing her heart out only seconds before. But when he’s not around, she has no idea if she pulled an Idina Menzel or if she’s just paranoid. 

Speaking of Lucifer, he’s been zero help with the case. He’s far too busy glaring at his dad, or grinning at his dad, or sneaking in the titles and lyrics of songs into everything he says—and she’s using the term _sneaking_ loosely, because he’s about as subtle as blunt force trauma caused by a sledge hammer. She’s had Trixie all four days, and Lucifer has been busy with Lux, so they haven’t even really seen much of each other except at work. Maybe that’s why she’s so frustrated.

Whatever it is, she’s starting to feel like the frayed ends of a rope. 

By four o’clock on Friday, she’s fighting off a headache. She’s perched on the edge of the conference room table, staring at two white boards full of notes and drinking lukewarm coffee. John is with Ella. Chloe has no idea where Lucifer is. She also has no idea how she’s going to solve this case. 

She’s considering whether Lucifer is onto something when he spikes his coffee when Dan appears.

“Hey Chlo,” he greets, striding purposefully into the room. “Got something for you.”

“Please tell me it’s a lead.” 

He smiles. “It is.” He holds out a folder. “You remember how you said you got a weird vibe from the victim’s kid?”

“Yeah, the son. Lucas.” Chloe sets her mug down on the table and takes the folder from Dan. “He seemed skittish. But teenagers are like that sometimes.”

Dan frowns and slides his hands into his pockets. “You ever think about what Trix is going to be like as a teenager?”

“No,” Chloe says, opening the folder. “She’s going to be ten forever and she’ll never grow out of bedtime stories or board games or hugs.”

Dan sits next to her on the table. “You think she’ll rebel?”

“Trixie?” Chloe says incredulously. “ _My_ Trixie?”

Dan grins. “You know she’s half mine, right?”

Chloe smiles and then looks down at the folder. “What am I looking at?”

“New gang called the Fantasmas have taken over parts of South L.A.” He points out a few spots on the map inside the folder. “These blocks here, and these too. And they’re expanding fast.”

Chloe frowns. “I thought this was Bloods territory.”

“It was. Fantasmas drove them out.”

Chloe lifts her eyebrows. “That’s not easy to do.”

“No,” Dan agrees. “But the Fantasmas are backed by a pretty dangerous cartel out of South America that sent in some muscle to make it happen. Bloods decided to cut their losses rather than escalate with a cartel that was eager to fight.”

“If there’s a cartel there’s drugs.”

“Yep. I called my buddy in Narcotics, and he said the Fantasma operation is pretty sophisticated. They diversify how they distribute their product, which is part of the reason why they’re expanding so fast that the LAPD can’t keep up. But I was able to get confirmation that they use teenagers to distribute in schools and community centers.”

Chloe looks up at him. “You’re about to tell me my vic’s kid was dealing for the Fantasmas, aren’t you?”

“Well we don’t know for sure,” Dan says. “He’s never been arrested or linked to anyone in the gang. But…” He flips through the file in Chloe’s hands and pulls out a few photos. “These three kids have. And they’re all over Lucas’s social media accounts.”

Chloe purses her lips. “Ella said the poison on our victim’s whistle was native to South America. I thought that was weird, but if the cartel is involved it makes sense. But what’s the theory?”

“I don’t know,” Dan says with a shrug. “Maybe Lucas was dealing, his dad found out and threatened to turn him in, and Lucas killed him before he could. Or maybe the gang did it for him.”

“Yeah. Maybe.” She shuts the folder and gets to her feet. “I’m going to pay Lucas a visit and see what he’s got to say. Can you do some digging and see if the cartel has a history of using the poison Ella identified on the whistle?”

“You bet.”

“Thanks, Dan.”

She’s halfway to the door when Dan calls out after her. “Hey Chlo?”

She turns around. “Yeah?”

He folds his arms over his chest. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, why?”

“You seem...tired.”

As if on cue, her headache throbs hard between her eyes. She sighs. “Celestial karaoke jam,” she mutters, leaning against the doorframe.

Dan frowns. “What?”

“Nothing. I’m fine.”

“You sure? Cause I can take Trixie the next few nights if you want. Give you some time to relax and blow off some steam. Or hang out with Lucifer and...you know. Do whatever it is you guys do.”

Chloe smirks. “Whatever it is we do?”

“Hey, I do _not_ want to know,” Dan says, holding up his hands. “I’m just trying to make sure you’re okay.”

Chloe smiles. “I’m fine. But if you want Trix for a few days, that’s fine with me.”

Dan smiles. “Okay. I’ll get her from the sitter.”

“Thanks.” 

Chloe turns around, and runs right into Lucifer’s chest. She’s immediately assaulted by the smell of his cologne, and then his hands wrap around her arms and she feels heat jolt through her body. 

“Detective,” he says. “Hello there.”

She tips her head back. “Hey. Where have you been?”

“I...had something to take care of,” he says, dropping his hands from her arms. She knows he’s strategically telling her the truth, but she’s too tired to call him on it. 

“Right,” she says instead. “Okay then.” She brushes past him and heads for her desk to get her keys. “I’m going to talk to Lucas. You don’t need to come if you’ve got stuff to do.”

“No, no, it’s all taken care of, I assure you,” he says, following her. “Let’s hit the road, Jack.”

She looks up at him. “What?”

“Ray Charles, Detective. Don’t tell me you don’t know the song?”

She blinks at him for a second, and then sighs. “Celestial karaoke jam,” she says. “Of course. Because that’s all we talk about now.” 

She pulls her desk drawer open with a little more force than she needs to. She roots around, trying to find her keys, and finally does. She slams it closed, and then turns and runs into Lucifer’s chest again. Her temper flares.

“Do you have something against personal space today?” she asks, stepping back and looking up at him.

He grins. “I have something against personal space every day, darling.”

Chloe rolls her eyes. “Walked right into that one,” she mutters.

Lucifer frowns. “Are you all right, Detective? You seem rather...”

“I’m fine,” she says before he can finish. “I’m just tired. Are you coming with me or not?”

Lucifer opens his mouth, but John beats him to it.

“Where are we headed?” he asks, stopping next to them.

“Oh good,” Lucifer says, his voice dripping in sarcasm. “You’re still here.”

John smiles. “I was discussing the multiverse with Ms. Lopez. She has some truly fascinating theories about travel between dimensions.”

Lucifer furrows his eyebrows. “I’m fairly certain _fascinating_ isn’t the word I’d use to describe that conversation.”

“Can we not do this right now?” Chloe interrupts before they can start arguing or— _please_ no—someone starts singing. “I have a job to do. Are the two of you coming or not?”

Lucifer frowns at her. 

John bows politely. “Yes, of course, Detective. Lead the way.”

Chloe heads for the stairs without another word.

* * *

Lucas isn’t the killer. 

But he runs like he is. 

Chloe is halfway up the path leading to his front door, Lucifer and John in tow, when Lucas walks out the front door with a skateboard under his arm. He freezes when he sees them. 

“Hi Lucas,” Chloe greets. She gives him what she hopes is a disarming smile. “Can we talk about your dad?”

His eyes widen, and then he bolts. 

Chloe swears and takes off after him. She’s really not in the mood to chase teenagers through the streets, especially teenagers who are track stars, but she gets lucky. There’s a tricycle sitting in the middle of the yard next door. Lucas glances over his shoulder at her and doesn’t even see it. He trips and goes flying, and by the time he rolls over in the grass, Chloe is standing over him with her gun drawn. 

“Put your hands up,” she orders.

He puts his hands up. 

Fifteen minutes later, they’re sitting in Lucas’s living room while the sun sets outside the large picture window in the front of the house. 

Lucas is in tears. Turns out Dan was at least partially right. Lucas’s dad did find out he was dealing for the Fantasmas, and he did confront his son. But instead of killing his dad, Lucas begged him for help. He and his friends had just wanted some extra cash, and they ended up in over their heads. They wanted out and weren’t sure how to make it happen. Lucas’s dad said he would help.

And then he ended up dead. 

“It’s my fault,” Lucas sobs with tears streaming down his face. “He’s dead because of me.” 

Chloe is opening her mouth to comfort him, but she doesn’t get a chance.

“It’s not your fault, son,” John says, leaning forward to put his hand on Lucas’s shoulder. 

Lucas shakes his head. “I shouldn’t have dragged him into it. I shouldn’t have told him the truth. I should’ve just taken care of it myself.”

“No, Lucas,” John says gently. “You did the right thing. You needed help, and you were scared, so you went to your father. That’s what you’re supposed to do. I’m certain if he were here, he’d say that’s what he wanted you to do.”

“How do you know?” Lucas asks, wiping his face with his sleeve.

John smiles. “Because I’m a father. And fathers always want what’s best for our children.”

“Oh is that _so,_ ” Lucifer interrupts.

Chloe snaps her head in his direction. He’s leaning against the window frame, and despite the fact that his posture screams _bored,_ there’s fury written clearly on his face. 

“Yes,” John says evenly. “It is.”

Lucifer’s eyes flash red. 

“Lucifer,” Chloe says, getting to her feet. “Maybe you guys can do this later? You know, _not_ in front of our witness?”

Lucifer ignores her. He pushes off the window frame and straightens to his full height, still glaring at his father. “Is this the part where you tell me that kicking me out was what was _best_ for me?”

John smiles sadly. “I know you don’t see it that way. But you have to understand—”

“Oh I understand _perfectly,_ ” Lucifer cuts him off. “What’s best for me is whatever’s best for _you,_ right?”

“No, son.”

“You sent me to _Hell._ ”

“You needed to be away—”

“ _Away?_ Do you even understand what that _means?_ Do you have any idea what it’s like—”

“Lucifer,” Chloe interrupts, stepping between them. She grabs his arm. “Stop it, okay? Look at me.”

Lucifer shrugs out of her grasp and doesn’t look at her. “Not now, Detective.” 

Car doors slam outside. Chloe’s training draws her eyes toward the window even though she wants to keep her focus on Lucifer. There are three muscle cars sitting in the street near her cruiser. A group of at least seven men is gathering near her bumper. Lucifer is shouting in her ear at his father, but she isn’t listening. Something is wrong. She can feel it.

And then she sees the AK-47s. 

“Lucifer,” she says, reaching for her gun as she yanks him back from the window.

“I said not now, Detective.”

“Yes, _now._ We’ve got company.”

“What?” 

She nods at the window. He leans to the left and follows her gaze out the window. “Who on earth are they?”

“They’ve got to be Fantasmas.”

“Oh god,” Lucas groans. “They’re here for me. They’re going to kill me like they killed my dad. I don’t want to die.”

Chloe looks over her shoulder at John. “Take Lucas out the back door and run. Don’t stop.”

“No,” Lucifer says.

Chloe looks up at him, ready to snap that now is _not_ the time to argue with her, but he looks down at her with a grim expression. 

“They appear to be sending two around the back.” 

She peers out the window through the sheer curtains and, sure enough, two of the men seem to be headed to the back of the house.

“Where’s the back door?” she asks Lucas.

He looks at her with wide, terrified eyes. “In the kitchen.”

“Get him upstairs,” she tells John. “Barricade yourselves in a room. Now.” 

John puts his hand on Lucas’s shoulder and ushers him hurriedly toward the stairs. 

Chloe pulls her phone out and dials Dispatch as she peers out the window again. “You need to go with them, Lucifer.”

“Absolutely not,” Lucifer says. “I’m not leaving you to face seven thugs on your own.” 

“I’m armed,” Chloe points out as she lifts her phone to her ear. “You’re not.”

“Yes, but I’m bulletproof.”

“You sure about that?” 

He frowns at her and then leans over to look out the window.

“Dispatch,” a voice says in Chloe’s ear.

“This is Detective Decker, Unit 831, requesting—”

“Detective!” Lucifer shouts. 

He lunges at her. He wraps his body around hers just as the picture window next to them shatters, and the house is filled with a barrage of bullets.


	7. Seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all, thanks so much for your comments on the last chapter. Things are a bit busy with the holidays and all that, so I didn't get a chance to respond to any of them, but thank you :)

The sound of half a dozen AK-47s shooting simultaneously is deafening. 

Lucifer’s body hits Chloe hard when he lunges to shield her, and her phone slips through her fingers and bounces out of reach. She doesn’t even see where it lands. She drops to a crouch and Lucifer goes with her, his body like a blanket over hers. 

Chloe squeezes her eyes closed as she hears more breaking glass from somewhere in the house. One of Lucifer’s hands is on the back of her head, and the other is holding her waist because his arm is wrapped tightly around her. She can feel him breathing by her ear. Her gun is a familiar weight in her hands, and her adrenaline spikes.

They can’t stay like this. She has to return fire. 

“Let me go,” she says, twisting in Lucifer’s arms. 

“Detective,” he protests. 

She elbows him in the chest and then crawls out from beneath him and along the floor under the window. 

“Detective, _no,_ ” he shouts, reaching for her foot. 

She ignores him and peers over the edge of the window sill. The men outside all stop to reload, and she immediately returns fire. The men scatter and duck behind cars. 

“LAPD!” she shouts. “Stand down!”

“Like fucking hell, puta!” one of them screams back. 

Chloe grits her teeth around the urge to yell a few expletives back. She keeps her gun trained out the window and glances at Lucifer. “You okay?”

“I’d be better if my girlfriend didn’t have a death wish,” he mutters.

“Are you vulnerable right now?”

“Well I don’t know,” he huffs. “It’s not like being hungry or tired, I can’t just—”

“Can you find out?”

“Can you spare a bullet?”

“I’m not going to _shoot_ you, Lucifer.”

He grins. “I’ve heard that before.”

Movement catches her eye, and she looks back out the window. One of the gang members is rising from behind her cruiser. She squeezes her trigger. Her shot hits him in the shoulder, and he collapses with a yell.

“We can’t stay here,” she says, her eyes scanning the street outside. “We’re sitting ducks for the guys coming in the back.”

Lucifer hisses in pain. Chloe glances over at him, and sees him with a shard of glass in his hand. He looks up at her and shows her his bloodied palm. 

“Does this answer your question?”

“Damn it,” she mutters, looking out the window again. She was hoping the danger had made him become invulnerable again.

“Detective, I may be vulnerable, but that doesn’t mean I’m not strong.”

Chloe frowns. “What the hell does that mean?”

“It means that if you can keep those miscreants out front in one place for a few moments, I can go take care of the two in the back. Prevent us from being sitting ducks.”

“No,” she says, shaking her head. “No way. You’re not wearing a vest, and you’re not armed.”

His eyes flash. “I won’t need either of those things.”

He gets to his feet and strides toward the back of the house without another word, sticking close to the wall so that he’s not visible to the guys outside.

“Lucifer!” she hisses. “Get back here!”

He ignores her. She wants to follow him, but the guys outside are moving. Three of them rise from behind her cruiser in unison, and she only has time to shoot one before she has to duck to avoid a barrage of bullets.

They’re not firing as fast now, which means they won’t need to reload as soon. She has a feeling they’re doing that on purpose—they’re using their fire as cover while they creep closer to the front door, which is...not good. Lucifer, at least, isn’t in the line of fire. She can’t see him, though, and that makes her nervous. He must be in the kitchen, waiting for the other two guys. 

“Lucifer?” she shouts over the sound of gunfire. 

No response.

Her heart shoots up into her throat. She wants to go after him, but she can’t. She has to deal with the guys out front. She waits for the brief moment of silence when they’re all reloading, and then rises up and returns fire. She’s surprised to find that instead of being halfway up the front yard, they’re all still back in the street. She misses one guy by inches, and the other two dive behind her cruiser. 

The fact that they’re still in the street tells her two things. One, they’re amateurs with no tactical training. They could’ve kept her pinned and rushed the door and she’d have been screwed. But they didn’t. Which brings her to number two: They’re banking on the guys coming in the back to take her out while she’s distracted. 

“Lucifer!” she shouts again.

She’s answered by a crash and a yell. She turns—still crouched beneath the windowsill but with her gun pointed toward the back of the house now—and is just in time to see one of the gang members fly through the kitchen doorway and land on the dining table with so much force that the table cracks down the middle and collapses inward. 

“One down,” Lucifer calls cheerfully.

Chloe eyes the guy on the demolished dining table. He’s not moving. She turns back to the window, and fires a pair of shots at one of the guys who’s trying to dart between her cruiser and one of the muscle cars. He shouts more expletives at her. 

“Yeah, you too, asshole,” she mutters. 

She flicks her thumb over the release button on her gun so that her now empty magazine hits the floor, and then shoves her spare magazine in place with the heel of her hand. She’ll be out after this. Maybe Lucifer can bring her an AK-47. 

If he’d fucking answer her, that is.

“Oh, _hello_ ghost number two,” Lucifer says brightly from the kitchen. Chloe can _hear_ the grin in his voice. “So sorry, but I’m going to need to break this arm so you can’t shoot at my girlfriend. I like her best when she’s not riddled with bullets.”

An ear splitting yell echoes from the kitchen and then cuts off abruptly with a horrible strangled groan. Sirens wail in the distance and get louder. Chloe’s certain it’s backup headed her way, and she wants to be relieved, but she can’t be until she knows Lucifer isn’t the one who just screamed.

She crawls out from underneath the window and rises up to stand with her back against the wall.

“Lucifer, I swear to god if you don’t answer me—” 

“Two down, darling,” he calls back. “No need to bring Dad into it. As I said, I...oh, what’s this? I think—”

He doesn’t finish. There’s a crash from inside the kitchen and a pained grunt. 

“Lucifer?” Chloe shouts. “What’s going on?”

No response. Chloe peeks out the window. None of the guys in the street are visible and they’re not shooting. She turns back toward the living room just as Lucifer and another man tumble through the doorway and land on the dining table in a heap of tangled arms and legs.

Lucifer struggles to the top, and immediately rears back to punch the man beneath him. Chloe steps forward, then remembers the window. She turns her body so she can see the fight to her left and the street to her right. The gang members outside still aren’t visible. 

She glances back at Lucifer just as the man beneath him grabs a ceramic bowl filled with apples from the wreckage of the table and smashes it against the side of Lucifer’s head. Lucifer falls sideways with an angry yell. The man scrambles, climbs on top of Lucifer, and reaches toward the sidearm on his hip. 

Chloe shoots him in the head before he can get it out of the holster. 

He collapses onto Lucifer, dead. Lucifer shoves him off with a disgusted huff, and then sits up. 

“Oh nice _shot,_ Detective. Right between the eyes.” He looks up at her, grinning, and then he glances past her and his eyes widen. “Detective!”

Chloe turns, gun raised, and sees one of the men creeping through the front yard next door. He spots her, straightens, and aims for her. 

They shoot at the same time. 

Chloe can hear the rapid report of his gun. A second later, he clutches his chest and collapses onto the grass as blood blossoms on his shirt. 

The other two men dart out from behind her cruiser. Chloe shifts her aim. The sound of another gun explodes behind her in the same instant she pulls her trigger. Seconds later, the last two men outside are dead on the sidewalk.

Chloe doesn’t lower her gun. Adrenaline is roaring through her veins. Her ears are ringing. No one outside is moving, and then all of a sudden four cop cars skid into view and uniformed officers pour out onto the street with their guns ready.

It’s over. 

Chloe turns to look at Lucifer. 

He’s got the dead man’s sidearm in his hands and an enraged look on his face. His eyes aren’t just red, they appear to be on fire. She can count on one hand the number of times she’s seen him this angry, and she’s suddenly afraid he might shoot one of the officers outside because he thinks they’re a threat to her. 

“Lucifer,” she calls gently.

He shifts his gaze toward her but doesn’t lower the gun. 

She holsters her gun and walks toward him slowly. “It’s over. You can put the gun down.”

“LAPD!” one of the cops outside bellows. “Hands up and identify yourself!”

Chloe steps between Lucifer and the cop and holds her hands up as she turns to face him. He’s standing outside the broken window, his gun raised.

“I’m Detective Decker,” she says. “I made the call to Dispatch. See the badge on my hip?”

The cop’s eyes dart down to her hip, and then he glances past her at Lucifer. “What about him?”

“He’s with me. He’s my partner.”

The cop hesitates, and then lowers his gun. “You guys okay? Medics are on the way.”

“We’re fine,” Chloe says, lowering her hands. “You should clear the back of the house. And there are civilians upstairs.”

The cop nods obediently and turns to shout orders at his colleagues. Chloe turns back to Lucifer. 

He’s staring at her. His eyes aren’t flames anymore but his whole body is tense, like a predator ready to pounce. He’s still holding the gun tightly. 

“Lucifer,” she murmurs. She reaches out and covers his hands with hers. “Give me the gun.”

He swallows and then lets go of the gun. She takes it from him and slips it into her waistband, and then looks up at him. He’s still staring at her with an unreadable expression on his face. She’s never seen him like this. They’ve been in shootouts before, but he’s never seemed shell shocked afterward. 

“Are you okay?” she asks, sliding her hands over his chest. She moves them up to his neck, and then rises to her toes to study a bleeding cut on his forehead by his hairline. “Is this from the bowl?”

He doesn’t answer her. She shifts her gaze to meet his. For the first time, she can read his expression. He looks terrified.

“He shot at you,” he whispers in a broken voice. “He shot at you and I couldn’t get there in time.”

She feels a lump rise in her throat. “I’m fine.” 

His fingers curl around her waist. She strokes her hand over his cheek, and then leans forward to press her forehead against his. 

“Detective,” he breathes.

She closes her eyes. “We’re fine.”

* * *

Chloe doesn’t realize there are bullet holes in her shirt until the paramedic notices them while he’s checking her out as part of department protocol. 

“Holy shit, are you…?” he says, his eyes wide as he stares at her chest. 

For a second, Chloe thinks he’s about to ask if she’s _that_ Chloe Decker, the one who got out of a hot tub naked. But then she glances down at her blouse and sees what he’s staring at—not her chest, but three circular holes in the fabric over the left half of her abdomen that are the same size and shape as…

Bullets. 

She feels suddenly light-headed. She knows the guy in the yard next door fired his gun at the same time she fired hers. She remembers hearing the report. But nothing actually _hit_ her. She would have felt it, right? She would have…

Holy shit, did she get _shot?_

She whips her shirt upward to check, but there’s nothing to see. No holes in her stomach, no blood, no bruises. Just smooth, unblemished skin that could probably use a day at the beach. She checks her shirt again, and then her skin, and then her brain short circuits and suddenly all she can hear is Lucifer’s voice. 

_He shot at you._

It’s the paramedic who pulls her back to reality. “Detective?” he says. “Are you…?”

“I’m fine,” she says, dropping her shirt back into place. She can’t talk to a random dude about this. She needs to find Lucifer. Lucifer will know what to do. 

The paramedic frowns. “There are bullet holes in your shirt.”

She forces a laugh. “They’re obviously not bullet holes if I have no bullet wounds, right?”

His frown deepens. “Right. But…”

“I must have torn my shirt somehow.” She hops off the edge of the ambulance. “Good news is I’m fine, and I need to get back in there, so if you’ll excuse me.”

“But Detective—”

“Do I have any injuries you need to treat?” she challenges.

He looks like he wants to say yes, but they both know he can’t. He shakes his head. “No ma’am.”

“Cool. See you later then. And thanks.”

She walks away before he can stop her. Her heart is racing. She scans the crowd of crime scene techs and cops, searching for Lucifer, and finds him leaning against the hood of her cruiser. Just the sight of him makes her feel more steady. 

She strides toward him. He gets to his feet when he sees her. 

“Clean bill of health?” he asks, smiling as he thumbs his cufflink. His smile fades when she stops much closer to him than she typically does at crime scenes. “Detective? Are you—”

“I got shot.”

He blinks at her in surprise, and then concern explodes across his expression. “ _What?_ ” he demands. He grabs her shoulders and scans her body. “Where? Why did you leave the bloody ambulance?”

“Because I’m fine. I—”

“We have to get to a hospital.”

“Lucifer.”

He straightens. “I can fly you. Just put your arms around my neck—”

“ _Lucifer,_ ” she says firmly before he can whip his wings out for everyone to see. “Just _wait_ a minute, okay?”

He goes still. 

She glances around to make sure no one is listening to them, and then grabs her blouse and pulls it taut so the holes are obvious. “I got shot. But nothing _hit_ me.”

Lucifer stares down at her shirt. He frowns. He runs his index finger over one of the holes, and then he slips his hand under her shirt and rubs his thumb over her abdomen. His skin is warm. She tries to stifle a shudder because now is _not_ the time, but her body shivers at his touch without her permission.

He looks up at her. “How?”

“I don’t know,” she says. “I was hoping you could tell me.” 

He stares at her for a moment, and then turns away from her abruptly. He opens the driver’s side door of her cruiser, and bends down to pop the trunk. 

“What are you doing?” she asks.

He strides toward the trunk without answering. He disappears for a few seconds, and then slams the trunk and returns. When he stops in front of her, he holds out the knife she keeps in her trunk. 

She realizes what he’s after—he wants to test to see if she’s invulnerable—and she yanks her sleeve up and offers him her arm.

“No,” he breathes. 

She glances up at him. 

He looks like he’s going to be sick. He shakes his head. “I can’t…” He swallows and holds the knife out farther. “I can’t do that, Detective.”

Chloe’s throat tightens. She takes the knife from him, and then slides the blade gently along her forearm. The pain is immediate and sharp and then fades to a dull throb. Blood blossoms along the line of the cut in her skin.

Lucifer stares at the blood on her arm, and then he tugs at her shirt and stares at the bullet holes again. “Impossible,” he whispers. 

Chloe frowns. “Maybe they’re not bullet holes.” 

“They’re bullet holes,” Lucifer says. “I just don’t...”

A thought strikes Chloe suddenly. She looks up at Lucifer and reaches out to grab his arm. “Could your dad have done this?”

The confusion on Lucifer’s face smooths into surprise, and then something that looks a lot like rage. He pulls out of her grasp and strides away from her. 

“Lucifer,” she calls after him. “Where are you going?”

He doesn’t turn around. She glances past him and sees that he’s headed for his dad, who is standing with Lucas and his mom by a squad car. She starts after him, but gets intercepted. 

“Detective Decker,” a man says, stepping in her path. “Are you ready to give your statement?”

Chloe glances past him at Lucifer. _No_ _I’ve got celestial shit to do,_ she wants to say. But she can’t.

She smiles. “Yeah. Ready if you are.”

* * *

When Chloe is finally done giving her statement, Lucifer is nowhere to be found. 

She makes her way through the cars and techs and cops, squinting against the glare of flashing red and blue lights in the darkness. She asks around, but no one has seen him. A familiar feeling of abandonment is welling up in her chest, and she can barely breathe around it. 

She finds his dad standing by her cruiser. “Detective,” he greets. 

“Where’s Lucifer?”

John blinks at her. “He left a while ago. Did he not tell you?”

Chloe’s stomach drops. No, he didn’t tell her. He just...left her. 

Again.

“Right,” she says, trying to school her expression into something unbothered. She forces a smile. “Ready to go?”

“I can find my own way home if you’d like to go in search of Lucifer,” John offers. 

Chloe shakes her head. “No, it’s fine. I can catch up with him later. Come on. I’ll take you home.”

He heads for her backseat. 

“No,” she says, shaking her head at him over the roof of the car. “Lucifer isn’t…” _He’s gone,_ the voice in the back of her head whispers. She swallows. “You can ride in the front.”

John smiles and gets in the passenger seat. 

They drive to Linda and Amenadiel’s house in silence. Chloe doesn’t have the energy to make conversation, and she’s past caring if she’s being rude. She just wants to go home and drink a beer in the shower and then crawl into bed and sleep for a week. 

When they finally get there and she parks the car by the curb, John turns to look at her. “Thank you.”

Chloe smiles. “Sure.”

He studies her for a moment, and then he turns more fully toward her. “If you have a question, I’d be happy to answer it.”

Chloe stares at him. Somewhere in the back of her mind, Lucifer’s voice is whispering _It’s a trap._ But she has a million questions, and she doesn’t know if she’ll ever get this chance again. God is sitting in her front seat. She could ask him anything. The meaning of life. If aliens exist. Who shot JFK. If her dad can hear her when she talks to him. 

“Did you save my life today?” she asks.

John frowns. “I don’t understand.”

Chloe pulls her shirt out so he can see. “These are bullet holes. But I don’t have any bullet wounds. Is that because of you?”

Understanding dawns on John’s face, and then he tilts his head. “That’s a complicated answer.”

Chloe sighs. “I am _so_ sick of hearing the word _complicated._ ” 

John nods sympathetically. “I understand. And I would very much like to answer your question, Chloe. Believe me, I would.”

“But?” 

“But I don’t think you’re ready to hear the answer. And I don’t wish to interfere with what’s already been put into motion.”

Chloe stares at him. “Seriously?”

A hint of a smile appears on John’s lips. “That’s what my son said as well.”

Chloe shakes her head. “No offense, John, but your son’s not entirely wrong about how infuriating you can be.”

John’s smile deepens. “I understand.”

They sit in silence for a minute or two. Chloe stares down at the holes in her shirt and thinks about how out of sorts Lucifer has been the last few days, and the agony that flashes briefly in his eyes whenever the topic of his fall comes up. 

“Lucifer is a good man,” she says quietly, looking over at John. “Or a good angel, I guess. A good…” She trails off and sighs and looks back down at her hands until she finds the right words. “He’s not perfect. But deep down, at the very core of who he is, he’s nothing but good.”

“You bring that out of him.”

“No,” she says, looking up at John again. “I don’t. That’s the thing. This gift you gave him, this blessing, whatever it is I am or have...I’m not blind like everyone else. I see him for who he is. For who he _truly_ is. Which means if I see good, then that’s what he is. I don’t bring it out. It’s already there.”

John nods. “You’re right.”

Chloe opens her mouth, ready to argue, and then she realizes what he just said. “I am?”

John reaches out and puts his hand on her arm, and she feels the same warmth course through her veins that she felt the first time she met him. 

“Thank you for loving my son so well,” he murmurs. He pulls his hand back, but his warmth lingers. He smiles. “Good night, Chloe.”

He gets out of the car before she can say anything else, walks up the front path, and disappears into the house without looking back.

* * *

It’s early enough that Lux isn’t open yet, but there’s a line at the front entrance anyway. 

Chloe parks her cruiser behind Lucifer’s car in the alleyway. As she’s getting out, a young guy she’s never seen before trots around the corner. 

“Sorry, ma’am,” he says. “You can’t park there. Only the owner and his guests park there.” 

Chloe shuts her car door with a smile. “You’re new, aren’t you?”

He looks confused. “Yeah, it’s my first night. Why?”

She smiles instead of answering and heads for the front entrance. 

“Lady, seriously,” he says, following her. “You can’t park there. I’m so sorry. I can find a parking deck close by if you want.” 

“That won’t be necessary. What’s your name?”

“Jake. Please don’t make me call to get your car towed. Please. I don’t want to cause a scene and get fired on my first night.”

“You’re not going to get fired, Jake.” 

They round the corner and the entrance comes into view. Rick, Lucifer’s favorite bouncer, is at the front door. He smiles as soon as he sees her.

“Good evening, Detective.”

“Hey Rick.”

“Detective?” Jake squeaks. “You’re a _cop?_ ”

“I am,” Chloe confirms. She gestures at her hip. “Badge is right there.”

Jake looks down at her hip and then his eyes widen. “I didn’t see it.”

“Obviously.” 

Rick frowns. “Is he bothering you, Detective?”

“No,” Chloe says. “He was just doing his job and making sure I knew I couldn’t park in the alley.”

Rick turns toward Jake with a stern look. “Don’t you know who this is?” 

Jake sputters. “Uh...no?”

“Detective Decker,” Chloe says, offering Jake her hand. “You can call me Chloe, though.” 

Jake reaches out to shake Chloe’s hand, but Rick smacks his hand away. 

“No he can’t,” Rick says. “Detective Decker is Mr. Morningstar’s partner. Don’t touch her. Don’t tell her what she can and can’t do. She can park wherever the hell she wants and do whatever the hell she wants. If she asks you for something, you give it to her. Even if she asks you to stand on your head and sing _I’m A Little Teapot._ ”

“I won’t do that,” Chloe says, shaking her head.

Jake looks dumbfounded. “Partner?” he repeats.

“Girlfriend also applies,” Chloe says with a shrug. 

Jake’s eyes get even wider. “Oh...oh god. I’m _so_ sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Chloe says sincerely. “You were just doing your job.” She turns her attention to Rick and tips her head toward the crowd of people. “Little early for a line, isn’t it?”

Rick smiles. “Haven’t you heard? We were named the hottest club in L.A. by some hotshot party website. It’s been nuts since Monday.”

Chloe lifts her eyebrows. That explains why Lucifer has had his hands full the last few days. “I hadn’t heard. Congrats.”

Rick shoots a look at Jake. “Won’t last if our new staff keeps screwing up.”

Jake seems to shrink under his gaze.

Chloe pats Rick’s shoulder as she starts past him toward the door. “Be nice to him, Rick. He was just doing his job.”

“Mhmm,” Rick says.

“Hey!” someone in the line shouts. “How come _she_ gets to go in?”

“Because she’s Mr. Morningstar’s girlfriend!” Jake shouts back. 

“Jesus, kid,” Rick sighs. “That’s not something you just _shout_ at people. Are you an idiot?”

Chloe presses her lips together around a smile and opens the front door of the club. 

It’s dark and quiet inside. She checks the main room to see if Lucifer is in there, but it’s just bartenders and other staff milling around and getting ready for the night. She heads for the elevator. While it carries her up to the penthouse, she fires off a text to Dan to remind him to check in with Trixie about whether she finished her social studies project. She slides her phone into her back pocket just as the doors open to reveal the penthouse. 

She steps off the elevator and immediately goes still. 

Lucifer is sitting at his piano with his back to her. He’s wearing the same suit he was earlier, but he’s ditched the jacket and his shirt sleeves are rolled up. His head is bent forward, and his fingers are dancing over the keys as he plays. Chloe knows this song. He’s playing _Hallelujah._

He’s not singing. He’s just playing, and the mournful melody makes her ache. The penthouse is dim. The city lights beyond the balcony are bright and brilliant against the night sky, and their glow frames Lucifer’s body like a halo. 

The song builds toward its crescendo, and the sound that fills the penthouse leaves Chloe completely, utterly breathless. It is, hands down, the most beautiful thing she’s ever heard, and the sight of him sitting there, his head tilted slightly and his body edged in light, is the most beautiful thing she’s ever seen. 

He plays the final chorus slowly and with a tenderness that makes her eyes warm and her throat feel tight. When he finishes, the last note hangs in the air. The only word she can think to describe it is _melancholy._

It fades, and then there’s silence. Chloe stands, frozen in place and unwilling to break the spell, but then Lucifer turns his head—not far enough to look at her, but enough so that she knows he realizes she’s there. 

“Detective,” he says softly. 

The word pulls her toward him like a magnet. She crosses the room and stops next to him. He doesn’t look up at her. She reaches out and brushes her fingers through the hair that’s cut short on the side of his head. He closes his eyes at her touch.

“Don’t stop on my account,” she murmurs. 

He sits as still as a statue for a moment, and then he sets his hands back on the keys and starts to play again. Chloe recognizes this song too. It’s _Something_ by The Beatles. 

He only plays the first few lines, but it’s enough to make warmth unfurl in her chest. The final note he plays hangs in the air just like before, and then he lifts his gaze to hers. 

“You know I believe and how,” he whispers.

It’s the first time in four days she isn’t frustrated by song lyrics coming out of his mouth. It’s the hundredth time in four days she wants to tell him she loves him. 

_You’re the only thing I believe in, Chloe._

She bends forward and kisses him. His fingers wrap around her hips, and then he pulls her gently down onto the bench next to him without breaking the kiss. She holds his face in her hands, and he wraps his arms around her and holds her like she’s priceless. 

When he finally pulls back, she’s breathless. He seems a little breathless too. 

“Hi,” she whispers, unable to stop a smile. 

He smiles too. “Hello darling.” 

He calls plenty of people _darling._ But the word sounds different when he says it to her. It makes her heart skip. 

He presses another brief kiss to her lips and then lets go of her waist and turns to face the piano again. She misses his touch the moment she no longer feels it, but they’re close enough that she can press her shoulder to his and feel his warmth, and she knows she could kiss him again if she wanted to. She watches as he reaches for the whiskey glass sitting on top of the piano. 

“You didn’t tell me that Lux was making headlines.” 

He frowns at her over the rim of his glass. 

“Rick said you got named hottest club in L.A.”

“Ah. Yes. I think he’s prouder of that than I am. Truth be told, I wish we hadn’t. It’s quite a lot of work to be the best.” He smiles at her. “But you knew that already, didn’t you?”

She smiles but lets the compliment slide. He’s trying to shift her focus away from him. He might be proud and self-absorbed more often than not, but he’s pretty good at deflecting attention away from himself when he wants to. Usually he does it when he’s trying to keep a secret, but she doesn’t think that’s the reason this time.

She puts her hand on his knee. “You should have told me so we could celebrate.” 

He shakes his head. “You were focused on the case. Seemed trivial.”

Chloe frowns. “What happens in your life isn’t trivial, Lucifer. If it’s important to you, it’s important to me.”

“So you’ve said. But you’ve devoted a considerable amount of your time and energy to me and my drama as of late, and much as I like your attention, I don’t fancy becoming a black hole.”

Chloe frowns. “What?” 

“Black hole,” he repeats. “Devours everything in its path until it all ceases to exist.” 

Chloe blinks. “Oh. That’s not...that isn’t what you do, Lucifer.” 

“Well not if I can help it. And speaking of holes.” He casts a sidelong glance at the holes in her shirt. “I spoke to my father about your...situation.”

“Yeah,” Chloe sighs. “So did I.”

Lucifer looks over at her in surprise. “What did he tell you?”

“Same thing he told you. It’s complicated and I’m not ready for the answer.” She bumps her shoulder against his. “Welcome to the bloody club, right?” 

He smiles. “I’d say I hate for you to be part of it, but that would be a lie.”

Chloe smiles too. “Well at least he won’t be shadowing us anymore.”

“Oh?”

“The guy whose arm you gleefully broke flipped on the Fantasmas.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Dan paid him a visit in the hospital and told him that you’d be stopping by every day to see him until he told us what we needed to know. Apparently the idea of seeing you again was so terrifying that he spilled his guts. We didn’t just get our killer, we got the whole gang.”

“Oh, well, nicely played, Daniel,” Lucifer muses before downing the rest of his whiskey. 

“I’ll tell him you said so.”

“Please don’t.”

Chloe laughs. Lucifer leans over and brushes a kiss on her temple. “Stay here.”

He gets up from the bench, and she watches as he walks behind the bar and pours himself more whiskey. He leaves his refilled glass on the bar and turns his back to her. She hears the clinking of bottles, but she can’t see what he’s doing.

“What are you doing?” she asks.

“Patience, Detective.”

She rolls her eyes. 

“I heard that.”

She laughs.

He turns around and walks out from behind the bar with a glass in each hand. He sits next to her, and then offers her a glass.

“What is it?”

He grins. “Do you trust me?”

“When you’re smiling at me like that? No.”

He chuckles and holds it closer to her. “I think you’ll like it.”

She purses her lips and studies him for a moment, and then takes the glass and takes a sip. It tastes divine.

“Wow,” she says. “That’s...wow.”

He looks pleased. “I thought you’d enjoy it.”

“What’s in it?”

“Oh a magician never reveals his secrets, Detective.”

Chloe rolls her eyes again and takes another sip. Lucifer watches her mouth around the glass. She feels a familiar twinge of anticipation deep in her body, but she ignores it. She wants to talk to him first. 

“So now that he’s no longer our shadow, do you think your dad will make his decision soon?”

Lucifer exhales a heavy breath. “Hard to say. Depends on how long he spends with Mum, I suppose.”

Chloe frowns. “What?”

“Oh did I not tell you that? Yes, it appears that in his infinite wisdom, Dad has decided unilateral decisions are not, in fact, good practice for a marriage. So he’s going to take a hop, skip, and a jump over to Mum’s universe and chat with her about which of her boys should follow in his footsteps.”

“What do you think she’ll say?”

“I’ve no bloody idea.” Lucifer sips his whiskey. “I suppose if either of them have any sense, they’ll choose Amenadiel. He’s the only real choice, seeing as I don’t want it and Michael is...well, Michael.”

“Did you tell your dad you don’t want it?”

“Yes. Not that it matters. He’s never cared what I want before, there’s no reason for him to care now.” 

“So what are you going to do if he chooses you?”

“Same thing I always do, darling. Rebel.”

Chloe nods and stares down into her drink. Fear is suddenly gnawing at her. All this celestial craziness is...it’s so much bigger than her. So much bigger than _them._ What if, even though they want to be together, they can’t be? What if John chooses Lucifer, and Lucifer rebels, and he’s forced to go back to Hell? What if John chooses Amenadiel, and Lucifer is forced to help his brother, and he has no more time for Lux or police work or her? What if John chooses Michael, and Lucifer has to start a war to protect her? There are so many what if’s she could drown in them, but they all end the same.

He leaves her.

Again.

“You’re thinking very loudly over there,” Lucifer murmurs. “Care to share with the class?”

Chloe presses her lips together. She doesn’t want to play the what if game with him. But she does want to know why he left her earlier. 

“Why did you leave me at the scene?” she asks, looking up at him.

He blinks. “I beg your pardon?”

“You stormed away to talk to your dad,” she clarifies. “And I couldn’t follow you because I had to give my statement. And then when I was done, you were gone.” 

She thinks she sees a flash of guilt on his face, but it doesn’t linger long enough for her to be sure. 

“Ah,” he says quietly. “Well, I uh...I needed some air. So to speak. My apologies. I didn’t mean to upset you.” 

She waits for him to elaborate, but he doesn’t. He just swallows a gulp of whiskey and then bends forward to rest his forearms on the upper edge of the piano. 

“Did you get some?” she asks. 

He turns his glass slowly. “Get some what?”

“Air.”

He doesn’t answer.

Chloe shifts on the piano bench and leans away from him so he’s got some space. Ever since he got back from Hell, he’s been pretty good about talking to her instead of shutting her out. He didn’t have Linda in Hell with him for thousands of years, but Chloe can’t shake the feeling that all those centuries down there gave him the opportunity to really absorb all that he learned. She’ll never say that their separation was good—she missed him too much to say that—but she also can’t ignore that he’s far more emotionally available now than he was before. 

He’s still Lucifer, though, and he has his limits. He’s had a rough go of it recently with all the family drama, and the last thing she wants to do is be something else he has to cope with. She doesn’t want to be a burden. 

She sets her glass down on the piano. “We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.” 

“Talk about what?” he asks, a tinge of bitterness in his voice as he straightens. “The fact that you would have died if not for my father’s meddling? Or the fact that for the first time in my life I’m so bloody grateful that the bastard meddled that I…”

He presses his lips together and doesn’t finish. 

She leans toward him so that their shoulders are touching again. “You what, Lucifer?”

He closes his eyes. “You think I’m only vulnerable when I’m bleeding,” he murmurs. “You think that when I don’t bleed, I’m invulnerable. But that isn’t true, Detective. Every breath you take makes me vulnerable, regardless of what can or can’t hurt me.”

Chloe frowns. “I don’t understand.”

He opens his eyes and finally looks at her. “What happens the next time I can’t protect you? What happens if you…?” 

She understands, all of a sudden, why he looks so agonized. The grief in his voice makes her chest ache. 

“What am I supposed to do?” he whispers, his voice breaking a little on the last word. “What am I to tell the urchin? Or your mother?”

“You tell them the truth. You tell them that I loved them very, very much, and that I died trying to make the world safer for them.” 

He flinches when she says _died._ She can’t not touch him anymore. She turns toward him and lifts her hand to stroke her fingers through his hair like she did before. 

“This isn’t about Trixie and my mom, is it?” 

She watches as he stares down into his whiskey glass and rotates it in a slow circle. 

“My brother was right,” he says eventually. “If I lose you, you’ll go somewhere I can’t follow.” His hand tightens on his glass. His knuckles are white. “I can’t bear that. So I told him I’d follow you.”

Chloe frowns. “Told who?”

“My father,” Lucifer rasps. He looks at her. His eyes are glassy. “I told him that if he doesn’t want a bloody celestial war then he’d better make you bulletproof permanently, because if he doesn’t, I’ll follow you. I’ll storm the gates of the Silver City with all of Hell at my back because I can’t bear the thought of it. Of never seeing you again. Of separation for all eternity.”

“Lucifer,” she breathes.

“Don’t ask me to,” he says, shaking his head. “Now that I have you, I can’t let you go. I _can’t,_ Detective. Don’t ask me—”

The glass shatters in his hand. Chloe startles in surprise as tiny pieces of glass spill through his fingers and cascade down her jean clad thigh. They hit the floor and scatter, glinting in the dimness like diamonds. 

“Damn it,” Lucifer says. He brushes his palm over her thigh. “I’m so sorry, Detective.”

“You’ll cut yourself,” she says, reaching out to grab his arm. 

He ignores her. “It’s not me I’m worried about. I could have—”

“Lucifer, stop.”

He goes still. He won’t look at her. Chloe’s heart is pounding in her chest. The what if’s are back, and they’re overwhelming. She can’t stop thinking about Lucifer with a horde of demons at his back, rushing at a pair of pearly gates, and his father waving his hand in retaliation and sending Lucifer to the same place Uriel went. 

She tightens her hold on his arm. “What did your dad say?”

Lucifer looks up at her with a frown. “What?”

“When you told him what you’d do,” she says. “What did he say? Is he angry? Is he going to…?”

Lucifer’s frown deepens. He shakes his head. “No. Actually, he...he said he was proud of me.”

Chloe stares at him. “What?”

A humorless smile curves Lucifer’s lips. “That’s what I said.”

For a minute, they just stare at each other. Chloe struggles to keep her head above the sudden flood of questions and worries and fears, but she can’t. Her brain is short-circuiting, and her ears are ringing, and it should really be a familiar feeling by now, but it’s not. 

She reaches for her glass. She takes a huge swallow, and then another. The drink still tastes good, but it burns all the way down. She takes a breath around the burn, and then downs the rest of the glass and presses the back of her hand to her mouth. 

“Would you like another?” Lucifer asks, a hint of amusement in his voice.

She lowers her hand and shakes her head. “No.” She frowns. “Maybe.” She turns to look at him. “He’s _proud_ of you?”

“So he says,” Lucifer replies. “It shouldn’t surprise you to hear that I don’t believe him.”

Chloe thinks about her conversation in the car with John. 

“Maybe you should.”

Lucifer lifts his eyebrows. “I beg your pardon?”

Chloe turns toward him. “I told him you’re a good man.”

Lucifer looks stunned. “You...what?”

“In the car,” she clarifies. “When I dropped him off at Linda and Amenadiel’s before I came here. I told him you’re a good man. He said that I bring it out of you, but I told him that he’s wrong. I told him that I see you like no one else does, so I know you better than anyone else, and I know that you’re good.” She exhales a shaky breath. “And he said I was right.”

Lucifer stares at her, his mouth open. She assumes he’s stunned by his father’s response, seeing as he’s always believed that his father thinks he’s the opposite of good, but then he says quietly, “You told my dad that I’m good?”

Chloe frowns. “Well yeah. It’s true.”

Lucifer doesn’t respond. He just stares at her like he’s seeing her for the first time, and then he lifts his hand to her face and brushes his thumb over her lips. 

Chloe covers his hand with hers. “He said something was in motion and that he didn’t want to stop it. Do you know what he meant?”

Lucifer shakes his head. “I’ve no idea. And I don’t care.”

“You don’t care?”

“Not in the slightest.”

She drops her hand. “But what if—”

“The only thing I care about,” he cuts her off gently, “is sitting next to me. The rest is merely noise.”

Warmth unfurls in Chloe’s chest. “Did you spend all your time in Hell writing down romantic lines you thought would make me swoon?”

He smiles. “Are you swooning?”

“No. I’m immune to your charms, remember?”

“But you do admit they’re charms.”

She tilts her head. “Did I? I don’t think that’s what I said.”

“You’re a bad liar, Detective.”

“How dare you,” she says in mock offense. “Lying is acting, and I’ll have you know I’m an excellent actress.”

“Oh I’m aware. I’ve seen your body of work several times.”

“Pun intended?”

“Well of course.”

She laughs, and then slides her hand over his knee. “You know what I was thinking?”

He’s staring at her mouth again. “Tell me.”

“We haven’t actually been on a date. Like, officially. As a couple.”

He lifts his gaze to hers with a frown, like that wasn’t what he expected her to say. And then recognition dawns on his face. “You know, you’re right. What a terrible boyfriend I am.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Oh but it’s true. I need to wine and dine you, Detective. Take you out on the town. Show you off.”

“Well Dan has Trixie for the next few nights,” she says. “And I’ve got a few days off work. So maybe tomorrow?”

His face falls. “Tomorrow is Saturday.”

Chloe frowns. “So?”

“So Lux is having a bit of a shindig to celebrate our new acclaim. I have to host. And I have to attend my father’s retirement party before that.”

“His what now?”

Lucifer smiles. “It seems my brother and the doctor have planned a retirement party for him. Absurd, I know, but you know how those two are. Horribly sentimental. I was hoping we’d have a good murder as an excuse, but if you’re off work then I’m afraid I haven’t a choice. My presence has been demanded.” 

“I could go with you,” Chloe offers. “If you want.”

He lifts his eyebrows. “You would do that?”

“Sure,” she says, lifting a shoulder. “What time is the party?”

“One o’clock.”

She opens her mouth to say she’s free, and then she remembers she’s not. “Oh.”

“You have plans?”

“No. Well, sort of. Trixie has a soccer game at four, and I have to take her because Dan has a work thing. So I’d have to bring her with me. But if you don’t mind that she comes, I’ll be there.”

Lucifer frowns. “Won’t she be bored?”

“Are you kidding? She’ll get to meet God.”

His frown deepens. “And that doesn’t bother you?”

“Well I’m kind of dating the Devil,” she points out with a smile. “So I think we’re past that.”

Lucifer doesn’t smile. He doesn’t make a joke either. He gazes at her, his eyebrows furrowed, and then he says softly, “And you’re okay with dating the Devil?”

For a moment, Chloe isn’t sure how to respond to that. Her first impulse is to be offended—after everything they’ve been through, and how upfront she’s been about her feelings for him, he still thinks she’s harboring some type of hesitation? But then she thinks about everything _he’s_ been through, and how often people have abandoned him or manipulated him or tried to make him be something he’s not, and her offense fades. 

She doesn’t know how to explain it to him. She could tell him she loves him, but she already has. She could _show_ him she loves him, but she’s already done that too. She stares down at the piano and wracks her brain for an idea, and then she remembers something. 

She lifts her hands and sets them on the piano keys. The ivory is cold and smooth beneath her fingertips. “Do you remember when we played piano together?”

If he’s confused by her change in topic, he doesn’t show it. “I do,” he says. “ _Heart and Soul,_ if memory serves.”

She looks up at him. “Have you ever looked up the lyrics?”

His eyes flicker down to her mouth, and then up to her eyes. “Can’t say that I have.”

“Well I have.”

She licks her lips and looks back down at the keys. She hesitates for a brief second—she really, really hates singing in front of people—but she’s done it in front of him a dozen times in the past few days, so what’s once more?

“Heart and soul,” she sings softly, her fingers pressing the keys down in slow unison with her voice. “I fell in love with you, heart and soul, the way a fool would do, madly, because you held me tight and stole a kiss in the night.”

She glances up at him. He’s wearing that look on his face, the water-in-the-desert look, and she swallows around the sudden tightness in her throat. She was going to sing the next part, but the tune dies on her lips.

“Heart and soul, Lucifer,” she whispers.

He lifts his hand to her face and strokes his thumb over the jut of her jaw. “Detective,” he breathes. 

And then he’s kissing her, and she’s kissing him, and nothing else matters.

* * *

“So? What do you say?”

The Dreamer doesn’t answer. 

Michael doesn’t push him. He sips his gin and waits. He’s waited millenia. He can wait five more minutes. 

The man sitting across the table from him is still. He has the hood of his black cape up, and with his face turned out toward the ocean, Michael can only see the profile of his face: His bone-white skin, his pointed nose and strongly angled chin, and the jet black hair falling in straight strands over his forehead. 

Finally, he turns his head. In place of his eyes there are stars, silver with a flickering of blue, and if Michael was human he might find them unsettling. 

“How does this benefit you?” the Dreamer asks in a low voice.

Michael grins. “Does it matter? I’m offering you what you want _and_ a chance to punish my brother. Two for one special. You won’t get another chance like this.”

The Dreamer is silent for another long moment. He looks out at the ocean again. “You only wish for it to impact those who know her?”

Michael nods. “Yes.”

“Why not all of mankind?”

“Because that will provoke her into doing the opposite of what I want. It would be them against the world.”

The Dreamer lifts an eyebrow. “Won’t that be the case if you turn her world against her?”

“No. She needs to see that the stakes are different for her than for him. He could walk away from this unscathed, but she can’t. She thinks that she’ll never lose faith in him. And he thinks he can’t be manipulated into sacrificing her.” Michael grins. “I’m looking forward to seeing who breaks first.” 

The Dreamer considers the words, and then shakes his head. “I think you underestimate him. And perhaps her, if she was extraordinary enough to catch his eye.”

Michael sighs. “I know what I’m doing, old friend. All I need is for you to do your part, and I’ll do the rest. You do what I’m asking, and you get what you want. Simple as that. Now do we have a deal, or not?”

There’s another long silence. And then the Dreamer nods.

“We have a deal.”


	8. Eight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys :) A few things before we dive in: 
> 
> 1\. Thank you again to all of you who leave comments. I really do love reading them. Y’all are so insightful, and I so badly wanted to respond to some of you this week, but life is bonkers right now and I didn’t get a chance.  
> 2\. Speaking of bonkers, I’m going to take a brief holiday break next week. So no new chapter next Tuesday on the 29th, but I’ll see you back here on January 5th.  
> 3\. There is some adult content in this chapter. Just a heads up in case that is not your thing. 
> 
> Happy Holidays y’all :)

“Come on, Trix,” Chloe hollers from the kitchen. “We’re going to be late!”

“I’m coming!” Trixie calls from upstairs. “Just looking for my socks!”

Chloe freezes. _Looking for socks_ means she’s probably upending all the laundry Chloe just finished folding. She sighs. She should have just left the clothes in the dryer. She’ll have to put them back in to get rid of the wrinkles now.

She screws the top onto Trixie’s water jug, and then freezes again. Shit. Is it her week to bring post-game snacks? She yanks the schedule off the fridge, scans the calendar, and then breathes a sigh of relief. She’s not up until next week. She should go to the store tomorrow so that she’s got it done and doesn’t have to scramble later. Maybe Lucifer will go with her if she promises to buy him some cool ranch puffs. 

Trixie’s feet pound on the stairs, and a moment later she skids into the kitchen in her soccer uniform. “Ready!”

“Did you pack your bag?” Chloe asks, turning to look at her.

Trixie nods. “Yes.”

“Shin guards and socks?”

“Yes.”

“Cleats?”

“Yes.”

“Alternate jersey?”

Trixie winces. 

Chloe opens her mouth, but she’s cut off by a sharp knock on the front door. 

“Can I get it?” Trixie asks.

“No, go get your jersey.” 

Trixie pouts. 

“Come on, move, go Monkey go,” Chloe says, tickling her daughter’s sides as she chases her from the kitchen and toward her bedroom. Trixie cackles with laughter, and Chloe can’t help but smile. Nobody’s got a better laugh than her kid. 

She strides back toward the front door and swings it open. She’s not sure who she was expecting to see on the other side, but it sure as hell wasn’t Maze.

Maze smiles. “Hey Decker.”

“Nope,” Chloe says, flicking her wrist to shut the door again. 

Maze stops the door from slamming in her face with the toe of her thigh-high boot. “Wait.”

“Move, Maze.”

“No. I need to talk to you.”

“Trixie is here,” Chloe says, stepping forward to fill the open space in the doorway. “I’m sure Michael sent you to harass me or beat me up or whatever’s next in his stupid epic plan, but you’re not doing it in front of my kid. You owe Trixie that, at least, even if you won’t do it for me.”

Maze’s perfectly trimmed eyebrows furrow. “Michael?”

“Yes, Michael. I know you betrayed Lucifer to help him. Which, by the way, _wow._ I know you and Lucifer don’t always agree, but _Michael?_ Seriously, Maze?”

Something shivers across Maze’s expression, but Chloe can’t tell if it’s guilt or shame or surprise. “Look, can I just come in for a minute? I have something to say and your neighbors are probably eavesdropping.”

“No.”

The front door swings out of Chloe’s grasp unexpectedly, and then Trixie shoves her way past Chloe’s hip and shrieks, “Maze!”

She throws herself into Maze’s arms, and Chloe watches as Maze bends forward to catch her. She hugs Trixie tightly, a genuine grin spread over her lips, and then she sets Trixie back down and tugs lightly on one of her pigtails. 

“Hey little human.”

“Are you coming to my soccer game later?”

“When is it?” Maze asks at the same time Chloe says, “No, Maze has other plans.”

The grin slips off Maze’s face. An awkward silence follows. 

Trixie turns toward Chloe and puts on her best puppy dog face. “Can Maze come to my game, Mommy? Please?”

“The last time Maze came to one of your soccer games she threatened to strangle the referee with his whistle,” Chloe points out. 

“Well if he would’ve called a fair game then I wouldn’t have had to,” Maze says defensively. “He clearly had it out for Trix. He’s lucky I didn’t meet him in the parking lot.”

Chloe gives her a look. “You did.”

“But I didn’t touch him.” 

“Sure. He just cried because he felt like it.”

Maze grins.

Trixie smiles up at Maze with a look of pure adoration, and then turns back to Chloe. “ _Please,_ Mommy?”

Chloe sighs. “Babe…”

“Hey, Trix, can you give me and your mom a minute?” Maze asks before Chloe can think of a good excuse to say no. “Go draw me a picture.”

“Okay!” Trixie says. She scurries back into the house like a tornado with pigtails. 

“Can I come in now?” Maze asks. “I’m not here for Michael.”

Chloe purses her lips and considers her options. 

Maze rolls her eyes and sighs the way she does before she has to do something she hates. “Please?” she asks.

Chloe sighs but steps out of the doorway and gestures into the house. 

Maze grins triumphantly and steps past her and into the house. Chloe shuts the door behind her and then heads for the kitchen. 

“What’s with the espresso machine?” Maze asks, following her.

“Lucifer,” Chloe replies, because that’s answer enough. She grabs a box of crackers from the cupboard—Trixie will want a snack on the way to the game and Chloe has no idea whether there will be food at the retirement party—and then heads for the fridge. She pulls out a kid-sized bottle of Gatorade, and then turns back to Maze.

“So?” she prompts. “What do you want?” 

Maze fidgets with her leather jacket, and then takes a deep breath and lifts her chin. “I want to apologize.”

Chloe stares at her. That’s...not what she thought this was about. “You want to apologize?” she repeats.

Maze narrows her eyes. “Yeah. You know, in that awkward demon way I suck at.”

Chloe presses her lips together. She probably deserved that dig. She sets the Gatorade on the counter. “Why are you apologizing to me? I’m not the one you betrayed.”

Maze sighs. “Well I was trying to apologize to Lucifer, but he told me he wouldn’t accept it unless I apologized to you first.”

Chloe frowns. “Why?”

“Who knows,” Maze says, rolling her eyes. “He went on some rant about celestial craziness and leaving devastation in my wake. There was also something about an evidence closet? It was insane, even for him.”

Chloe folds her arms over her chest. “But you’re here anyway.”

“Yeah, well, Linda said I had to make amends with Amenadiel and Lucifer if I wanted to hang out with her and the tiny human, and Lucifer won’t let me make amends until I apologize to you, so here I am.”

“Are you still working with Michael?”

“No.”

“Did he give you a soul?”

Maze blinks in surprise. “Lucifer told you that?” 

Chloe opens her mouth to answer, but Maze lifts her hand before Chloe can reply. 

“You know what, don’t answer that. Of course he did.” She looks down at the floor with an expression of disgust. “Freaking soulmates,” she mutters. 

Chloe isn’t sure what she’s supposed to say to that, so she doesn’t say anything. 

Maze stares at her boots for a while before she meets Chloe’s gaze again. “Michael lied. He can’t give me a soul. No one can. I’m a demon. This is as good as it’s going to get. The end.”

Chloe frowns. “Are you sure that’s true?”

“I’m definitely a demon, Decker. Want to see my face?”

“No, I...wait, you have a face? Is it like Lucifer’s?”

“You tell me.” 

Maze’s face morphs, and then all of a sudden Chloe is staring at…

“Holy _shit,_ ” she breathes.

“Don’t think holy’s the right word,” Maze snorts. Her demon face flickers and then disappears, and Maze is just Maze again. 

Chloe gapes at her, her mouth open in shock. 

“Your kid was way cooler about it,” Maze says, looking down at her nails like she’s bored.

Chloe nearly swallows her tongue. “You showed that to _Trixie?_ ”

Maze shrugs. She doesn’t look even remotely apologetic, and Chloe can’t decide whether she wants to scream in frustration or throw the Gatorade bottle at Maze’s head.

“Okay,” she says instead, “we’re going to talk about you showing _that_ to my daughter later. But what I was trying to say was that John—Lucifer’s dad—he could give you a soul. Couldn’t he?”

Maze frowns. “God?”

“Yeah.”

“Sure,” Maze says, lifting a shoulder. “He’s God. But why would he?”

“Why wouldn’t he?”

“Uh, because I’m me? I know you’re a celestial rookie, Decker, but God and demons don’t exactly get along.”

“Right,” Chloe says. She hadn’t thought of that. But surely John knows how close Lucifer and Maze are—well, _usually_ are—right? And Maze might have her issues, but she has good in her. Trixie wouldn’t love her if she didn’t. 

The bigger question, though, is why Maze even _wants_ a soul. Chloe wants to ask, but she knows she won’t get a straight answer. She’s not sure she needs one. Today is the second time she’s heard Maze mutter the phrase _freaking soulmates_ about her and Lucifer with a considerable amount of bitterness, and Chloe still remembers how torn up Maze was about Eve. Maybe she thinks that’s why Eve left her?

“You know you don’t need a soul for people to love you, right?” Chloe says. 

Maze gives her a look. “You don’t know what you’re talking about, Decker.”

A year ago, Chloe might have stopped talking under such a withering glare. But not anymore. 

“Yeah, you’re probably right,” she admits. “But I still think you’re selling yourself short. You might not have a soul, but you’re clearly capable of love. And anyone who doesn’t see that is an idiot.”

Maze makes a disgusted face. “Capable of _love?_ ” she repeats.

Chloe rolls her eyes. “Oh come on, Maze. You’re here because Linda asked you to be. Because you love her and Charlie, and you want to see them. And you obviously love Trixie.”

Maze scoffs. “I don’t…” 

Chloe arches an eyebrow.

Maze folds her arms over her chest. “It’s not the same.”

“Not the same as what?”

“You and Lucifer. It’s not the same.”

“Maybe not,” Chloe concedes. “But what Lucifer and I have started out with the same basic feeling that you have for Linda and Trixie and Charlie. And if you can feel that, then why not more? I mean, it’s like...it’s like speaking another language, right? It’s easier to learn French if you already know Spanish because they have the same roots.”

Maze frowns. “You think I need to learn Spanish?”

“No, I…” Chloe sighs. “Look, Maze, love is love. You’re either capable of it or you’re not. And I might not always understand you, but I know you’re capable of it. And I think deep down, if you really looked, you’d know that too.”

For a long moment, Maze doesn’t say anything. Chloe knows Maze well enough to know that what she said hit home. But that doesn’t mean Maze is going to acknowledge it.

“Yeah, whatever,” Maze says. She unfolds her arms and straightens. “Do you accept my apology or not?”

“Yeah,” Chloe says. “I accept.”

“Cool. Tell the little human I said bye.”

Maze turns on her high heel and strides toward the front door. 

“Maze,” Chloe calls, heading out of the kitchen after her.

Maze turns around. “Yeah?”

“I think I owe you an apology too. For how we left things. I didn’t...I wasn’t trying to abandon you. Or reject you. It wasn’t about you. It was me. But I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings.”

Maze folds her arms over her chest and looks down at the floor. She looks extremely uncomfortable, but Chloe presses on anyway. 

“Look, the truth is you kind of became my best friend while we were partners. And I’ve missed you. I know Trixie has. And it’d be nice if you started coming around again. We love you, you know?”

Maze snaps her gaze up at the word _love._ She looks stunned. Chloe smiles, because she meant what she said and she’s not going to take it back.

“Yeah,” Maze says eventually. “Whatever, Decker.”

She turns around, pulls open the door, and disappears without another word. 

* * *

Chloe doesn’t expect there to be many people at John’s retirement party. He’s only been on earth for a week. How many people could he possibly know well enough to invite to a party on such short notice?

A lot, apparently. 

When she first pulls into the park that Lucifer sent her the address for, she’s convinced that there must be another party happening simultaneously. But then she and Trixie get within fifty yards of the picnic shelter, and she sees a _Happy Retirement!_ banner and dozens of cops from the precinct in the crowd. 

“Wow,” Trixie says. “Lucifer’s dad has a lot of friends, huh?”

“Yeah,” Chloe says, looking around in wonder. “I guess so.”

“Hey Decker,” Cacuzza says as she stops next to Chloe. She smiles at Trixie. “Hey Trix.”

“Hi!” Trixie says brightly.

Chloe frowns. “Are you here for…?”

“John’s retirement party,” Cacuzza says. “Of course. Wait until you see what the squad all chipped in to get him. He’s going to _love_ it.”

Chloe frowns. “You...what?”

“Oh, shoot, I forgot to sign the card,” Cacuzza says. “I’ll catch you later, Decker.”

She strides away, and Chloe stares after her in bewilderment.

“Mom, since it’s a party do you think there’s cake?” Trixie asks.

“I don’t know, baby,” Chloe says. “But you’ve got a soccer game soon so you probably shouldn’t—”

“Lucifer!” Trixie shrieks. 

She takes off, and Chloe turns her head just in time to see Trixie collide with Lucifer like a small, pigtailed freight train. He stumbles back a step and winces, but when he glances down at the top of her head there’s no mistaking the affectionate smile that tugs on his lips for the briefest of moments before he schools his expression back into exasperation. 

“Yes, hello, offspring,” he says, patting her on the head.

“Sorry we’re late,” Trixie says, tipping her head back to look at him. She’s still got her arms wrapped around him tightly. “Mom and Maze were fighting.”

Lucifer looks up at Chloe with a frown.

“Not physically,” Chloe clarifies. 

Lucifer’s frown deepens. He sets his hands on Trixie’s shoulders and peels her off his leg. He turns her toward the picnic shelter, and bends down to put his mouth by her ear. “You see Dr. Linda over there?”

“Uh huh,” Trixie says. 

“She’s guarding the cake. Tell her I said you can have as much as you like.”

“Okay!” Trixie shouts as she takes off at a sprint. 

“Only one piece, Trix!” Chloe hollers after her. 

Trixie doesn’t acknowledge her. 

Chloe sighs. “She can’t have that much sugar before a game, Lucifer.” 

“The doctor won’t let her have more than one piece,” Lucifer replies, sidling up next to her. “She’s in good hands, Detective.”

He’s probably right, but Chloe gazes after Trixie anyway. She watches as Linda intercepts Trixie at the cake table, and then steers her toward the stroller where Charlie is. The only thing Trixie loves more than cake is Charlie, and Chloe can’t help but smile at the grin on her daughter’s face.

When she finally turns to look at Lucifer, she finds him staring down at her with a mixture of amusement and affection. 

“Hey,” she greets.

“Hello, Detective,” he says with a smile. 

He glances down at her mouth. Chloe considers her options. There are people she works with around. But Lucifer is looking at her lips the same way Dan looks at pudding, and she hasn’t kissed him in, like, five hours. An eternity, really.

She rises up on her toes and kisses him briefly before she can talk herself out of it. When she drops back down to her feet, he looks stunned. 

“I thought PDA was strictly forbidden,” he murmurs.

“At crime scenes,” she says, smiling at him. “But this isn’t a crime scene.”

Lucifer looks pleased, but then his expression darkens. “It might be if I have to listen to one more person sing the praises of dear old _John._ ”

Chloe squeezes his arm in sympathy. “Sorry.” She looks out over the crowded party. “Why are there so many people here?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Lucifer says bitterly. “They all got a taste of his _glory._ ”

Chloe spots John fifty yards away. He’s got a crowd around him, and they’re all looking at him the same way Lieutenant Keller did at the precinct. 

“I see that,” she hums.

“Bloody fools,” Lucifer mutters. 

Chloe looks up at him. “You know, this is usually what it’s like to be with _you_ in a crowd.”

Lucifer frowns. “I beg your pardon?”

“You’re like a magnet,” Chloe says. “People see you and the rest of us don’t even exist anymore. So I know how you feel.”

Lucifer’s frown deepens. “Well you always exist for me, Detective. No matter the size of the crowd or who is in it. I could pick you out of LAX during the holiday rush.”

Chloe blinks at him. She wasn’t fishing for a compliment, but…

“Really?”

“Well of course,” he says. “All I need to do is announce over the public address system that *NSYNC is reuniting and then listen for your deafening scream of joy.”

Chloe sighs. “No one ruins a moment better than you, Lucifer.”

He grins. “Why thank you, darling.”

Chloe rolls her eyes.

* * *

When it’s time to leave the party, Chloe can’t find her daughter. 

Trixie isn’t by the cake. She’s not by Charlie, either. Linda has’t seen her, and neither has Amenadiel, and Chloe is starting to worry a little when she finally spots her daughter standing on the edge of a pond beneath a massive tree with John at her side. 

Chloe heads in their direction. She has no intention of eavesdropping, but when she gets within earshot, she slows down at the sound of Trixie’s voice.

“...think it would be pretty cool, you know?”

“I agree,” John says, smiling down at Trixie. “Failing to give dogs the ability to breathe fire was really an oversight on my part. I should have consulted you when creating them.”

Trixie nods solemnly. “It’s okay. Mommy says that everyone makes mistakes, and what matters is what we do _after_ we make the mistake. So next time, just text me.”

Chloe covers her mouth with her hand so she won’t laugh.

John grins. “Your mother is very wise,” he observes.

“Yeah,” Trixie agrees, looking out over the pond. “She’s a good mom. Some of my friends at school are jealous cause she’s way cooler than their moms.”

“She is very cool,” John agrees.

Chloe smiles. She should announce her presence, she knows. But something makes her stay silent. 

John is staring down at Trixie while she stares out across the water. “Is there anything else you’d like to ask me, Trixie?” he asks quietly. “I sense that there’s something you’re holding back.”

Trixie looks down at her feet. “It’s not really a question.”

“What is it then?”

“Maze says that Lucifer gives people favors. Do you do that too?”

“Sometimes. What is it you want?”

Trixie looks up at John. “My mom was really sad when Lucifer was gone. She tried to pretend like she was happy whenever I was around, but I knew she wasn’t. One time I saw her crying when she thought I was asleep. So I tried to sleep with her a lot after that so she wouldn’t be lonely.”

Chloe’s heart shoots up into her throat. Trixie did sleep in her bed quite a bit after Lucifer first left. She said she was having nightmares. It never occurred to Chloe that she might be doing it for her.

“That was very kind of you,” John says with a smile.

Trixie shrugs. “She always makes me feel better when I’m sad. I wanted to make her feel better too.”

“But she’s not sad anymore, is she? She must be very happy now that Lucifer has returned.”

Trixie nods. “Yeah. He’s happy too. Daddy says they’re in love.”

“Do you agree?”

“Oh yeah. Mom smiles a lot. Lucifer stares at her _all_ the time. And I caught them _kissing_ the other day. Mom’s face was _so_ red.”

Chloe’s pretty sure her face is red now, too. 

“And you don’t mind that they’re kissing?” John asks. 

“No way,” Trixie says. “I like Lucifer. He’s great.”

“Yes, he is,” John agrees. 

Chloe lifts her eyebrows. It’s a good thing Lucifer isn’t here. He wouldn’t be able to stay silent after that.

Trixie turns toward John. “So can you let him stay with us?”

John stares down at her. “Is that the favor you’d like to ask?”

“Yeah,” Trixie confirms. “I want him to stay forever so Mommy won’t be sad again.”

“Forever?”

“Yep. I want him to move in with us, and then they can get married and have a big wedding with a big cake and then I can have a little brother like Charlie.”

Chloe chokes and coughs and then clears her throat, and John and Trixie turn in unison to look at her.

“Hi Mommy,” Trixie greets. 

“Hey Monkey,” Chloe says. She walks toward them. “Hi John.”

John smiles at her knowingly, and Chloe knows that he knows she was eavesdropping. “Hello Chloe,” he greets. 

“We’ve got to go, Trix,” she says, looking at her daughter. “Say goodbye to John.”

Trixie lunges at John to hug him. “Bye John. Good job on your retirement.”

John hugs her back. “Thank you, Trixie. It was a pleasure to meet you.”

Trixie tilts her head back to look at him. “Will you think about what I said?”

John smiles. “Of course. You have my word.”

Trixie grins. “Cool.” She lets him go, and runs past Chloe. “I’m going to say bye to Charlie!”

Chloe watches her go, and then turns back to John. “I hope she didn’t interrogate you too hard.”

“No, not at all.” He smiles. “I’ve never been asked to put giraffes on Mars before.”

Chloe laughs. “Yeah, she has a thing about Mars. We watched a documentary a few years ago and it really stuck, I guess.”

John’s smile deepens. “She’s wonderful, Chloe. You should be very proud.”

Pride flickers in Chloe’s chest right on cue. “Thanks,” she says. “I am.” She gestures at the parking lot nearby. “She’s got a soccer game, so we’re going to go. But congratulations on your retirement.”

“Thank you. And thanks for coming.”

“Sure. Are you...I mean, Lucifer said you were going to visit his mom. Are you leaving soon?”

John nods. “This evening.”

“Okay. Well if I don’t see you again, it was nice to meet you. Travel safe.” Chloe frowns. “If that’s even a thing for you.”

John smiles. “Thank you, Chloe. It was an honor to meet you as well.”

Chloe smiles and turns away from him. She gets about three feet before she stops. She’s not sure if she’s ever going to see him again. Trixie’s words are echoing in her mind— _I want him to stay forever_ —and all of a sudden there are words of her own welling up in her throat.

When she turns around, John doesn’t look surprised. In fact, he looks like he fully expected her to stop and turn around and say something else. So she does.

“I want it too.”

John tilts his head. “Want what?”

“Lucifer. I want him to stay.” She swallows the fear in her throat, and then shakes her head. “Please don’t take him from me again.”

John studies her. Chloe feels like she’s standing on the edge of an abyss, waiting to see if she’ll be pushed over the edge or pulled back. She never gets to find out. 

“Mom,” Trixie says, sliding her hand into Chloe’s. “Lucifer’s looking for you. He wants to say goodbye.”

Chloe smiles down at her daughter. “Okay. Let’s go.”

* * *

Maze is at Trixie’s soccer game.

Chloe doesn’t see her right away. They’re running late, as per usual, so Chloe drops Trixie off and then goes in search of a parking spot. As she walks up to the field, she scans the small bodies running through the grass for her daughter. She spots Trixie’s pigtails pretty quickly and smiles. Maybe she’s biased, but nobody looks cuter in pigtails than her kid. 

She turns her attention to the sideline, hoping that the mom clique won’t spot her and descend like a pack of legging-clad piranhas whose sole mission in life is to find out why she missed the most recent team fundraiser. Maybe if she told them the truth they’d leave her alone. _I was hunting a serial killer who cuts vocal cords. But you’re right, Becky, I totally should have let him stay on the streets a little longer so I could talk shit about how Hannah’s mom always forgets to bring gluten-free brownies._

She finds the clique without much trouble—they’re really into neon athleisure these days—but they don’t see her. They’re huddled together and clearly staring at someone else, and Chloe follows their gaze to see a woman in leather pants and thigh high boots standing alone on the sideline.

Maze.

Chloe makes her way through the grass and stops next to the demon. “Hey Maze.”

“Hey Decker.” She doesn’t take her eyes off Trixie, but she holds out a cardboard cup. “Brought you some coffee.”

Chloe looks down at the cup in surprise. It’s not unheard of for Maze to bring her coffee. She used to do it when they were partners. But Chloe didn’t expect her to do it today. Hell, she didn’t expect Maze to even be here given how abruptly she left. 

“Thanks,” Chloe says, taking the cup. She hesitates. If history is any indication, there’s a pretty good chance there’s more alcohol than coffee in this cup. But it’s Saturday, she’s off work, and she might have to deal with the piranha moms, so maybe a little alcohol isn’t the worst thing in the world. 

She lifts the cup to her lips, and a familiar mix of espresso and caramel hits her tongue. No alcohol. She glances at Maze. Maze continues to ignore her. Chloe presses her lips together around a smile and looks back at the field. She’s pretty sure Maze just said _I love you too._

They stand in silence for a moment until Maze says, “What do you know about the other team’s coach?”

Chloe glances across the field at the tall, well-built guy on the opposing team’s sideline. He’s got a sleeve of tattoos on his arm. “Nothing. I’ve never seen him before. Why?”

“He looks sus.”

Chloe arches an eyebrow. “Sus?”

“Yeah,” Maze says. Her eyes are trailing up the man’s body slowly. “I think I’m going to have to screw him to find out.”

Chloe crinkles her nose. “Gross.”

Maze finally cracks a smile.

* * *

Chloe is drinking tea and reading a book when her phone buzzes. 

She fumbles through the folds of the blanket draped over her legs in search of her phone without taking her eyes off the page. She finally finds it, and glances at the screen. It’s a text from Lucifer.

_Are you sleeping?_

Chloe snorts. She almost asks him if he’s booty calling her, but she knows he’ll have a field day with that so she doesn’t. She glances up at the clock and then types, _It’s only eight on a Saturday._

_And what are you up to so early on a Saturday evening, Detective?_ he replies almost instantly. 

Chloe smiles. She angles her phone just right and takes a picture of the book in her lap and the mug of tea on her coffee table and then sends it to him. 

_Sexy,_ he replies. 

_Don’t make fun._

_I wasn’t._ The ellipsis stays on the screen, and then another message comes through. _Come to Lux._

Chloe presses her lips together and stares at her phone, her thumbs hovering over the screen. She hasn’t been to Lux since Lucifer got back. Not during prime party time, that is. 

_Don’t you have a shindig?_ she types back. 

His response is so fast she blinks in surprise. _I want to see you._ The ellipsis appears again, and then there’s a second text almost immediately. _Please._

Chloe blinks at her screen. She can’t remember the last time Lucifer said _please._ She stares at her phone for a minute or so, agonizing over her answer, and then fires off a response. 

_I’ll be there soon._

Lucifer replies with a series of emojis that probably mean something to him, but are gibberish to her. All she knows is that there are plenty of hearts. She smiles.

And then she realizes that she just said she’d meet her very attractive boyfriend at the hottest club in L.A. and she’s currently wearing a Lakers sweatshirt with ice cream stains. 

Forty minutes later, after she showers, curls her hair just enough to put a wave in it, and applies some makeup, she’s standing in her closet with her hands on her hips and a curse on her tongue. She has _nothing_ to wear. She rifles through her clothes again, wondering whether she should call Maze and ask to borrow something, and then she finds the dress Trixie picked out before family dinner. 

Lucifer’s voice floats across her mind. _The only man you’re wearing that dress for is me._

She stares at it for a moment, wondering if she’s that brave, and then yanks it off the hanger. She digs through her piles of boots until she finds a pair of strappy black high heels that she’s pretty sure belong to Maze, and then she gets dressed before she can overthink it.

The whole drive to Lux, she second guesses herself. She’s a homicide detective and a mom who likes to read books and drink tea on Saturday nights. What the hell is she doing in this dress and these shoes, driving to the club? Is she crazy? 

She’s definitely crazy.

_I want to see you. Please._

She parks her car in her usual spot behind Lucifer’s and strides toward the front entrance with a confidence she doesn’t feel. When she gets there, Jake and Rick are guarding the door. The longest line she’s ever seen is stretched down the sidewalk. 

Jake sees her first. His mouth falls open comically wide. 

“Detective Decker,” he chokes. His eyes travel her legs, linger at her chest, and then lift to meet hers. “You look—”

Rick smacks him on the back of the head. “Don’t finish that sentence.”

Jake yelps and rubs his head with a frown. 

“Detective,” Rick greets, bowing a little.

Chloe smiles. “Hey Rick.”

“The boss is expecting you.” He winks at her as he moves the velvet rope aside for her. “You look spectacular.”

Jake rounds on him with an indignant look. “Hey, how come you—”

Rick shoots him a look, and Jake immediately goes silent. 

“Have fun,” Rick tells Chloe.

“Be nice,” Chloe replies.

He grins. “I’ll think about it.”

Chloe laughs and heads into the club. She passes half a dozen other staff members she knows on the way toward the main room. They all greet her with smiles. None of them call her by her first name. She wonders if Rick threatened them the way he threatened Jake. 

When she finally gets to the main part of the club, she takes the first flight of stairs down and then stops on the landing above the DJ booth. She rests her hands on the railing and looks out over the crowd of people. The dance floor is filled to capacity, and people are writhing against each other in time with a song Chloe doesn’t recognize. She scans the dance floor, but doesn’t see Lucifer. She shifts her gaze to the bar, and that’s when she sees him. 

He’s leaning against the bar with a glass in his hand. He’s wearing a gray three piece suit that’s tailored extremely well over his chest and broad shoulders. His shirt is a deep navy, and his perfectly arranged pocket square is a stylish pattern of navy and black. 

He’s handsome as hell. 

There are half a dozen women around him. They’re young and beautiful and showing plenty of skin. Lucifer is talking animatedly, and they’re all laughing. One of the girls reaches out to touch Lucifer’s arm as she laughs. Jealousy flickers in Chloe’s chest, but only for a moment—Lucifer gently pulls his arm free, and then shifts away from the woman so that he’s out of her reach. It’s so smooth that no one notices.

But Chloe does. She smiles.

Lucifer glances up at the stairs as if he can sense her smiling at him. He freezes with his glass halfway to his lips when he sees her. His gaze travels slowly over her body. When their eyes finally meet again, the look on his face sparks a sharp ache deep in her body. 

He raises his eyebrows and tilts his head at her, and she knows him so well that she can hear his voice in her mind. _You wore my dress, Detective._ She lifts her shoulder and smirks in response. He grins. 

He sets his glass down on the bar and pushes through the group of women. They stare after him in confusion, but he doesn’t spare a backward glance. Chloe watches him stride through the crowd, sidestepping at least five people who accost him on the way, all without taking his eyes off her. He gets to the stairs and takes them two at a time, and she lets go of the railing and meets him at the top. 

“Hi,” she greets as he gets to the final step. 

He doesn’t reply. He slides a hand along her waist and grabs her face with the other and yanks her forward. She collides with his chest, and then his mouth is on hers and he’s kissing the hell out of her. 

Desire explodes inside her instantly. She’s one step above him and in heels, so for once she’s a little taller than him. She takes advantage and drapes her arms around his neck, and then threads her fingers through the hair on the back of his head. His hand on her waist slides to the bare skin of her back, and he strokes his fingertips along her spine. His skin is warm, but she shivers and arches and presses even closer to him. He smiles against her lips.

She doesn’t know how long they stand there, making out like teenagers in the middle of his club. She doesn’t really care. It’s hard to care when his tongue is in her mouth and his hand is slipping toward her ass and she can _feel_ him against her. 

Eventually, someone bumps into them on the way down the stairs, and they have to break apart. Lucifer huffs in annoyance and turns to glare over his shoulder. Chloe suddenly remembers where they are and how many people are around, and she leans back. She licks her lips—she can taste his whiskey—and lets out a shaky breath. 

Lucifer turns back to look at her when she lets her arms fall from around his neck. The annoyance on his face evaporates, and he catches her hands and tilts toward her. 

“Detective,” he starts. He doesn’t finish. They stare at each other for a moment. His thumbs stroke over the backs of her hands, and the tension between them spikes again. 

“Hell of a party,” Chloe murmurs, trying to find something to talk about that isn’t how badly she wants him to take this dress off her. “I can see why it’s the hottest club in L.A.”

Lucifer doesn’t reply. His eyes flicker over her face, and then he brushes past her and pulls her after him by the hand.

“Lucifer,” she says in surprise, stumbling after him. “Where are we going?”

He either doesn’t hear her or chooses not to answer. He pulls her up the other set of stairs, and ignores at least three separate people who say hello to him on the way. When they get to the top of the steps, she grabs his arm with the hand that isn’t locked in his. 

“Where are we going?” 

“Upstairs.”

Chloe frowns as he tugs her down the hallway with the elevator that leads to his penthouse. “But what about your party?”

Lucifer slams his index finger on the elevator’s call button repeatedly instead of answering. “Slow as bloody molasses,” he mutters when the doors don’t immediately open.

“Lucifer,” Chloe says, squeezing his hand. “You don’t need to—”

He spins to face her and kisses her before she can finish. Her arms wrap around him without any intentional thought on her part. It’s just a reflex—he’s kissing her like it’s his damn job, and there’s nothing else she can do except kiss him back. When he palms the small of her back and slips his tongue into her mouth, her brain goes fuzzy. She can’t remember what she was going to say.

His other hand strokes down her throat and then cups her chest. There’s no one else in the hallway, but they’re in the middle of a busy nightclub on a Saturday night and anyone could walk by and see them. Chloe’s not usually the type to let herself get felt up in public. Tonight, though, she can’t bring herself to care. 

Desire drills down her spine and she arches into his palm. She grabs at his face, and he kisses her deeper, and then he’s pushing her backward. Her shoulder blades collide with the wall across from the elevator doors a second later, and Lucifer pins her in place with his body. 

He kisses along her jaw and then down to her throat. She tips her head back, and he sucks on her pulsepoint. Chloe expels a sharp breath at the juxtaposition between pleasure and pain. He’s going to leave a mark. She doesn’t care about that either.

Lucifer lifts his mouth to her ear. “If you think,” he whispers, his hands trailing downward along the curved outline of her body, “I’m going to stay at this bloody party while you’re wearing this dress...” 

His fingers curl around her left thigh and he yanks her leg up and around his hip and then thrusts. There are still plenty of clothing layers between them, but she chokes on her breath anyway. 

“You’re mistaken,” he finishes.

His hand slides up her thigh and beneath her dress. His mouth is hot on her neck. The ache between her legs turns into a throb. His hips roll against hers again, and his teeth scrape none too gently over her throat, and his desperation for her is...well, hot. _Really_ hot. 

“Fuck,” she whispers.

He grins into her skin. “That’s the plan, darling.”

She groans at him. 

“Ride’s here,” he murmurs in her ear. He drops her leg, and then curls his fingers around her waist and drags her onto the elevator. 

The doors aren’t even shut before she climbs him like a tree, her nails digging into his shoulders. He pins her against the wall and kisses her like he‘ll never get the chance again. It hasn’t even been a full twenty-four hours since they last did this, but it feels like forever. How did she manage to get through today without ripping his clothes off? How did she go weeks, months, _years_ without kissing him senseless and letting him touch her anywhere and everywhere the way he is right now?

When the elevator finally arrives in the penthouse, her dress is hiked up around her waist and her legs are locked around his hips, the pointed ends of her heels pressing against the backs of his thighs. He carries her into the penthouse. She expects him to head for his bedroom, but he deposits her on top of the piano instead. 

She pulls back from his mouth with a frown. “What are…?”

He grins at her. “Time to fulfill a fantasy of mine.”

She wants him so bad she can’t even think straight, so she doesn’t understand what he means until his hand slides between her legs and his fingers shove aside the lace of her underwear to stroke her. 

“Lucifer,” she gasps. Her hips jerk upward, and she grabs onto his shoulder with one hand and then sets the other behind her to hold herself up. The piano is cool beneath her palm. In the corner of her eye, the L.A. skyline glitters through the darkness. She can’t hear the music of the club. All she can hear is her ragged breathing as his fingers move. 

“Scoot closer to the edge, darling,” he murmurs. She obeys, and when her ass is perched on the very edge of the piano, he slides a finger inside her and curls it _just_ right. 

Her head falls back and she chokes on an embarrassingly desperate sound. She has never— _never_ —wanted someone this bad. She feels like she’s going to combust. 

“Oh it’s even better than I imagined,” he whispers. There’s awe in his voice. His fingers are moving expertly between her legs, and she digs her nails into his shoulder. 

“When?” she gasps. 

“When what, darling?” 

“When did you imagine it?”

“Look at me.” 

She lifts her head to look at him. Her chest is heaving because she’s nearly panting from want. His eyes are dark with desire, and his hair is mussed. He looks like sex personified. 

“The first time we met,” he says. “And every time I saw you after that.”

His thumb rubs a circle over her. Her hips jerk and she whimpers in the back of her throat but she doesn’t look away from him. His eyes darken, and she thinks he’s finally going to give her what she wants, but then he pulls his hand away. She can’t stifle a disappointed moan. 

“Patience, Detective,” he murmurs. 

He latches onto the edges of her underwear on either side of her hips and tugs. She plants both her palms behind her on the piano so she can lift her hips and let him slide them off. Her dress is still gathered high on her waist, so when she drops her hips again, the piano is cool beneath her bare skin. 

Lucifer bends forward, sliding the lace slowly down her legs. When he gets to her high heels, his face lights up. 

“Oh, _my,_ ” he murmurs, tossing the lace over his shoulder. He strokes his fingers over the straps that circle her ankles. He lifts his gaze to meet hers and gives her a smile that could only be described as devilish. “I think the heels are staying on, Detective.” 

She’s going to combust. His voice is a purr and there’s a predatory glint in his eyes and holy _shit_ she’s going to combust. 

“Lucifer,” she whispers. There’s a request in her voice, but she doesn’t put it into words. She just opens her legs for him. 

He doesn’t need a second invitation. He licks his lips, and then leans forward to nuzzle the inside of her knee. His tongue flicks out to taste her skin, and a sharp heat starts to coil inside her. She watches as his mouth slowly travels upward along the inside of her thigh. 

“You’re incredible,” he breathes against her skin. 

And then he leans the rest of the way forward, and his tongue strokes slowly between her legs, and Chloe tips her head back and closes her eyes and lets herself get lost in the white-hot climb to oblivion. 

* * *

Michael sends a summons as soon as his father is gone.

_Do it._

A reply arrives moments later. 

_It’s done._

* * *

Dan is drinking a beer and watching the Lakers thrash the Warriors when a memory of Chloe floats unexpectedly across his mind. 

Her wedding dress. The sparkling diamond on her fourth finger, newly joined by a thin platinum band. Her hair pulled back in an elegant updo, her eyes so bright and her smile so beautiful that he forgot to breathe when he saw her at the end of the aisle. He held her so tight during their first dance at the reception that she teased him about it. 

_Can you believe we’re married now?_ she whispers in his memory, her arms draped around his neck as they sway. _I’m your wife._

Dan’s IPA suddenly tastes like ash. She’s not his wife anymore. He messed it up. She’s with Lucifer now. 

Lucifer. 

The Devil.

The _actual_ Devil. 

Dan sits up on the couch, the basketball game forgotten. Lucifer is the Devil. He rules Hell and tortures people, and ever since he came into their lives, all he’s done is wreak havoc. He’ll hurt Chloe. He might be on his best behavior now, but once a devil, always a devil. He’ll break her heart, or he’ll get her killed with all his celestial bullshit, and Trixie will grow up without her mother.

Trixie.

What if he hurts Trixie?

Dan gets to his feet. He has to find Chloe.

* * *

Penelope Decker is fast asleep at a hotel in Boston, exhausted after a long day signing autographs and posing with cosplaying fans, when her dreams of a shirtless George Clooney morph into dreams of her daughter. 

_Mom,_ Chloe murmurs in the dream. She’s crying—sobbing on her hands and knees—and Lucifer Morningstar is standing over her with eyes like flames and his teeth bared in a snarl. _Mom, I need you._

Penelope wakes with a start and bolts straight up in her bed. She glances at the clock. It’s after one in the morning. She has the urge to go—to get up and catch a cab to the airport and fly to L.A. so she can wrap her daughter in her arms as soon as possible—but it’s one in the morning and Chloe hates when she shows up unannounced.

It’s not that late in L.A., so Penelope reaches for her phone and dials. The voicemail picks up after four rings. 

_You’ve reached Detective Chloe Decker,_ Chloe’s voice says in Penelope’s ear, brisk and businesslike. _I can’t answer my phone right now, but leave a message and I’ll call you back._

“Hey, Pumpkin,” Penelope says after the beep. “It’s Mom. I just had the weirdest dream...” 

Penelope sighs and rubs her face. She can’t stop thinking about that image of Chloe on her hands and knees, Lucifer looming over her like…

Like the Devil. 

“Last time I talked to Trix she said that you and Lucifer have started seeing each other,” Penelope says, even though she knows her daughter hates when she sticks her nose in her love life. “And I just...are you sure that’s a good idea, Pumpkin? Isn’t he kind of...dangerous?”

Penelope doesn’t know what else to say, so she sighs. “I’m going to fly to L.A. in the morning to see you. We need to talk about this. Call me when you get this.”

She hangs up, but the urge to get up and go remains.

* * *

Dr. Linda Martin is drinking a glass of wine and smiling as she thinks about how adorable Chloe and Lucifer were at the retirement party when a thought crosses her mind. 

What if Lucifer reverts back to his old self?

She’s spent years getting to know him. She’s helped him become a better version of himself, and although he’s far from perfect, he’s grown by leaps and bounds. She saw it today while she watched him with Chloe. The Devil who used to care only about himself has transformed into a Devil who cares about his partner _more_ than himself. 

But he’s still the Devil. 

And the Devil is dangerous. 

Linda shakes her head and sips her wine. No. That’s not right. Lucifer is a good man. He’s a good friend. She knows him. She knows how much he cares for Chloe. He would never, ever hurt her. His days of self-sabotage—and the havoc they wreaked on Chloe—are behind him. He’s grown. 

But what if she’s wrong? What if he regresses? She’s seen patients do it before. They seem to be doing well, living their best lives as the best versions of themselves, and then something happens that triggers them and they turn into wrecking balls that smash all they’ve built to pieces. 

What if Lucifer smashes Chloe to pieces? He said his invulnerability was back, and Chloe didn’t seem thrilled by that. So what if it’s already happening?

Linda sets her wine glass down and takes a deep breath. She takes her job as a therapist seriously. But she cares more about her friends than her job, and Chloe is her friend. If Lucifer is regressing, then Chloe deserves to know, right?

* * *

Maze is disappointed.

The soccer coach is muscular and tattooed and hot but he sucks in bed. If she wants to get off, she’ll have to find someone else to do it for her. Or she could just do it herself.

“Wow,” tattooed but terrible dude breathes from next to her. “That was amazing.”

Maze rolls her eyes and gets out of bed to collect her clothes. She’s not really feeling the self-sufficiency thing tonight, so she’ll need to find somewhere to go and someone to get her off. She remembers Decker saying that Lux was having a massive party to celebrate something or other. Now that Maze is on decent terms with Lucifer again, she could go there. 

She freezes, shirt in hand, as she’s struck by a sudden thought. 

_Should_ she be on decent terms with Lucifer? 

She’s not sure he deserves it. He went back to Hell, and he didn’t take her with him. But more importantly, he left Decker heartbroken. She was a _mess_ while he was gone. Every night her kid was with Dan, she wanted to go out. Maze is always down to go out and have some fun, but Decker...that’s not her. She likes tea and books and boring shit. The only reason she wanted to go out was because Lucifer broke her heart.

He’s back now, of course. He and Decker are _finally_ getting it on, and if the stupid smile on Chloe’s face when she talks about him is any indication, she’s happy. But Maze knows her former boss. He can’t love someone more than he loves himself, not even Chloe Decker. He’s going to break her heart again.

And a good friend would never let that happen.

Maze tugs her shirt on and then reaches for her pants.

“Hey, where are you going in such a hurry?” terrible-in-bed guy asks. “You don’t have to leave.”

“Yeah, I really do.”

“But why?”

Maze grabs her boots and heads for the door without even pulling them on.

“My friend needs me.”

* * *

Trixie wakes in a cold sweat, clutching Miss Alien to her chest. 

It’s dark and she just had a nightmare about Lucifer. She’s scared. Tears spill from her eyes. She holds Miss Alien tighter, but there’s only one person who will make her feel better. 

“Mommy.”


	9. Nine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys :) Hope y'all had lovely holidays, and thanks again for your kind words in my comments.

Chloe and Lucifer end up in his bed eventually. 

The penthouse is dark, but the city casts enough ambient light through the windows that Chloe can still see. She can hear the thudding of Lucifer’s heart beneath her ear from her position draped over his chest. She likes that. She likes knowing what his heart sounds like. She likes the sound of his deep, even breathing. She likes being in his bed, naked and sated and happy, his silk sheets almost as soft on her skin as his fingertips tracing patterns on her back. 

“I didn’t intend this,” he says. His voice is a rumble through his chest.

Chloe picks her head up. “Hm?”

He looks down at her. “This wasn’t what I intended when I asked you to come here.”

Chloe bends her arm over his chest and rests her chin in the crook of her elbow. “So I wasn’t a booty call?”

“Of course not,” he scoffs. “Not that I’m complaining. It was extraordinary. And you know I’m always ready and willing.”

“Yeah,” she says with a laugh. “I think you’ve made that pretty clear.”

He smiles. He tangles his fingers in her hair and rubs a strand between his thumb and forefinger. Chloe watches him. His smile fades, and suddenly he looks lost in thought, and maybe a little sad. 

“Hey,” she murmurs, reaching up to coast her fingertips over his stubble. He meets her gaze. “You want to share with the class?”

He swallows. He looks suddenly apprehensive, and she’s opening her mouth to tell him he doesn’t have to share when he speaks.

“There’s a hell loop that looks like Lux.”

Chloe lifts her eyebrows. “Really?”

He nods. “Some poor sod who cheated on his wife with a woman he used to meet here. The wife followed him here one night and confronted him. Made quite a scene, though I admit I don’t remember it happening in real life.”

“So that’s his hell loop? Being confronted by his wife over and over again?”

“Not all of it. But it starts there.”

Chloe strokes her thumb over his chin. “I’m going to be honest, I’m still a little confused about what, exactly, a hell loop is.”

“It’s a manifestation of guilt. It takes different forms depending on what a person might feel guilty over. Some of them replay a certain moment. Some replay a longer period of time. Some take what you love and turn it against you rather than force you to relive something. It varies, but it’s all designed to torture. To punish.”

Chloe swallows. Hell sounds...horrible. “I guess I thought for most humans it was physical torture. Because Maze talks about it sometimes.”

“There’s that as well,” Lucifer says, brushing his hand through her hair again. “It’s com—” He catches himself before he says _complicated._ He glances at her, and then looks away quickly. “Hell is complex,” he adjusts. 

Chloe traces her index finger along his clavicle. “So there was a loop with Lux?”

“Indeed.”

“Did you visit it while you were down there?”

“A few times. Until it became too difficult.”

Chloe’s heart aches. “Because you missed home?”

He doesn’t reply. He stares at the strands of her hair woven through his fingers for a long time, and then he finally meets her gaze. 

“The doctor once told me that you could be surrounded by people and still be lonely,” he murmurs. “I felt that in the loop, in that place that looked like home and wasn’t, and I felt it tonight too. All those people downstairs, Detective, they see what they want to see. They see what they want me to be and not what I am. But you don’t. That’s why I asked you to come.”

Chloe’s eyes start to warm. “Because I see you,” she whispers. 

He nods. “I used to imagine you in the loop. I’d look up and see you at the top of the stairs, looking for me. Wanting me despite everything I was. But you never appeared. And then tonight, you did.” 

The relief in his voice makes her ache all the way down to her bones. She leans forward and presses her lips against his because she can’t seem to find her voice. His hand weaves through her hair and holds the back of her head. She closes her eyes tightly against the tears threatening to fall. 

“Anytime, Lucifer,” she whispers. “Anytime you want me, I’ll be here.”

“And if I want you all the time?” he whispers back.

She smiles. “Then I guess you’re stuck with me.”

His hand cups her face, and his thumb strokes over cheek, and then he pushes her gently backward so he can look at her. “I’ve made you upset again,” he murmurs, his eyebrows furrowing. “You’re crying.”

She shakes her head and sniffs. “I’m okay.” She can tell by the look on his face he doesn’t believe her. “I’m fine,” she insists. “I just...hate thinking about it.”

“About what?”

“You being stuck down there for thousands of years. Alone.”

“Well I’m not alone now,” he says, brushing her hair back from her face. He smiles. “And apparently I’m stuck with you.”

“No take-backsies,” she says, smiling too. 

He frowns. “What on earth does that mean?”

“According to Trixie, it means you can’t take something back once you’ve said it.”

“Well why wouldn’t you just bloody say that?”

Chloe rolls her eyes and rolls onto her back to stretch. “Because she’s ten and it’s fun. You’re no fun, Lucifer.”

She knows that’ll get a rise out of him, and it does.

“I _beg_ your pardon?” he says, propping himself up on his elbow. “I am the most fun person you’ve ever met, Detective. If you were to look up _fun_ in the dictionary you would find a picture of this dashing face and a note that says, _See also: Lucifer Morningstar._ ”

“Mhmm,” Chloe says, trying to keep a smile at bay. It’s fun to provoke him the way he usually provokes her. He gets so angsty _._ It’s adorable.

Lucifer looks appalled. “How _dare_ you. I have had more fun in a single evening than you’ve had in your entire life.”

“Drunken orgies aren’t fun,” Chloe says, crinkling her nose. 

He grins at her. “Well how do you know if you’ve never tried, hm?”

She shakes her head. “No. Not happening. Not ever.”

Lucifer hums in the back of his throat but doesn’t argue. He falls back on the bed with a contented sigh and stretches. 

Chloe casts a glance at him out of the corner of her eye. An old, familiar fear flickers in her chest. Will he want that someday? Will he want her to be more...adventurous? And if she’s not adventurous enough, will he get sick of her?

“Speaking of fun evenings,” Lucifer says, oblivious to her concerns, “I want you to know I haven’t forgotten.”

Chloe turns her head to look at him. “Forgotten what?”

“That I owe you a date.”

“You don’t _owe_ me a date, Lucifer.”

“Poor choice of words on my part.” He rolls toward her. “All I meant is that we haven’t yet been on an _official_ first date, and I intend to rectify that. I’m in the midst of planning a spectacular one as we speak.”

“You are?”

“Yes, of course. I know you’ve been patient already, but I need you to be patient a little longer. I want it to be special.”

Chloe reaches out to stroke her fingers over his jaw. “It’ll be special as long as we’re together.” 

“Well that’s very sweet, Detective. But it’s also patently absurd.”

Chloe blinks at him. “Excuse me?”

“As you said, it’s taken quite a bit for us to get here. We’re incredible. Don’t you think our first date should be incredible too?”

“Well, yeah. But you don’t need to stress out about it. I’m not hard to please.”

He grins wickedly. “Oh, yes, I think we’ve established that. All it takes is my admittedly talented tongue on your—”

“Okay,” Chloe cuts him off, flushing a little. “That wasn’t an innuendo.”

“Well not until I made it one, darling. That’s kind of my jam.” 

He leans toward her, and his palm slides across her stomach. His skin is warm. His thumb strokes over her navel, and her body responds immediately. Which, okay, _that’s_ absurd. She really shouldn’t be ready to yank him on top of her again already. 

Lucifer is grinning at her like he knows what she’s thinking. “You shouldn’t be embarrassed about how much you enjoy my skills.” 

Chloe scoffs. “I’m not.”

“You’re blushing, Detective.” 

“Well because it’s not...I mean, I don’t…”

“It’s alright,” he purrs, his thumb stroking over her skin again. “I understand. All your exes were terrible at oral sex, so you were under the illusion that it’s overrated. And then you met me, and now you know it is very much _not_ overrated.”

Chloe has no idea what to say to that. Her exes weren’t terrible, but they weren’t...well, they weren’t Lucifer. But there’s no way she’s going to feed his already massive ego and admit that he rocked her world out on that piano. 

“What I was _trying_ to say,” she says, putting her hand over his just in case he gets any ideas and tries to slide it any lower, “was that you don’t need to go all Lucifer on this first date thing.”

“All Lucifer?” he repeats, his eyebrows furrowing.

“No billboards on Sunset. Or stripper grams. Or...you know. Other _you_ stuff.”

“Billboards and strippers are not on the itinerary, I assure you.”

“What _is_ on the itinerary?”

“Well you’ll just have to wait and see,” he says, smiling. He looks very pleased with himself, and she can’t decide if it’s adorable or if she should be worried. 

He leans toward her. “In the meantime,” he murmurs, his eyes flicking down toward her mouth, “we should practice.”

Heat flares in her body. “Practice what?”

“Dating.”

She laughs at that. “You know, some people would say we’ve been dating without dating for years now. I don’t think we need to practice.”

“Perhaps,” he acknowledges. “But I’d like to see you in that exquisite dress again. Sooner rather than later.”

“You just want to take it off me again.”

He grins. “Guilty.” 

And then he leans forward and kisses her. He lingers, his lips moving slowly over hers. It’s lazy, the exact opposite of the kisses that brought them up here in the first place, and she sinks into it. She loves this. She loves him. 

She slips her arm around him and rakes her nails gently up his back. A low rumble of pleasure echoes in his chest, and she makes a mental note of it. She’ll have to see how he reacts if she does this when they’re in the middle of everything. 

“Put the dress back on,” he says into her mouth. “Let me take you to dinner and then bring you home and we can do this all over again.”

“Sounds nice,” she murmurs. “But isn’t it a little late for dinner?”

He leans back to look at her. “Are you hungry?”

She thinks about it. “I could eat.”

“Then I’ll buy you dinner.”

“But who’s going to be open for dinner this late?”

“You let me worry about that.”

She arches an eyebrow at him. “You’re going to call in a favor, aren’t you?”

He smiles instead of answering. 

“You don’t have to waste your favors on me, you know.”

He leans back even farther from her, an affronted look on his face. “ _Waste?_ ” he says incredulously. 

“I’m just saying.”

“It’s not a _waste,_ Detective. You’re more than worth it. I _want_ to use my favors on you. It brings me pleasure.” 

She smiles. “Well if it _pleases_ you…”

He grins and ducks forward to kiss her again. It’s a lot less lazy this time. She tilts toward him. He’s so damn _good_ at this. He’s had plenty of practice, she knows, but she doesn’t feel like that when he kisses her. She doesn’t feel like she’s just another woman in a long line of them. She feels like she’s the only one who exists. 

His hand on her stomach starts to dip lower, his fingertips ghosting over her skin and toward—

“Okay, okay, wait,” she says, grabbing his wrist even though she _very_ much liked where he was headed. “If we don’t stop now we’re not getting out of this bed.”

“Well I wouldn’t mind that,” he says, wiggling his eyebrows at her.

She grins. “Yeah, me neither. But do you want me in that dress again or not?”

He seems to genuinely think about it, and then he says, “I want that very much.” 

“Well then get moving,” she says, pushing against his chest. 

He opens his mouth to reply, but the sound of the elevator chiming cuts him off. 

Chloe frowns. “Were you expecting someone?”

Lucifer frowns too. “No.”

“Mr. Morningstar?” a male voice calls. 

Chloe clutches the sheet to her chest. “Who is _that?_ ”

“Don’t worry, darling,” Lucifer says soothingly. “It’s just Carlos. He won’t step off the elevator.” He twists in bed toward the entryway to his bedroom. “What is it, Carlos?” 

“The _L.A. Times_ reporter is asking for you, sir,” Carlos replies. “She says she was promised pictures of you at the piano.”

“Oh,” Lucifer sighs. His eyebrows furrow. “I forgot about that.”

“Go,” Chloe says. “I’ve kept you from the party long enough.”

“I’m not returning to that party,” Lucifer insists. “I’m taking my girlfriend to dinner.”

Chloe couldn’t keep a smile from her lips if she tried. Maybe someday hearing Lucifer call her his girlfriend won’t make her smile like an idiot. But not today.

“Okay,” she says. “How about you put your suit back on and go serenade your adoring fans for the camera, and I’ll meet you down there in ten minutes?”

Lucifer smiles. “Well I suppose that’s acceptable.” He flings the sheets off and gets out of bed in all his naked glory, and Chloe stares. She can’t help it. 

“I’ll be there shortly, Carlos!” he hollers as he walks around the bed toward his closet. 

“Yes sir,” Carlos calls back.

Lucifer glances over his shoulder at Chloe, and then double takes when he sees her staring. He stops and turns around. “Like what you see, darling?”

“Yeah,” she says bluntly. 

He grins. He closes the distance between them, plants his palms on the bed, and bends forward to kiss her. She threads her fingers through the hair on the back of his head and kisses him back. 

“So do I,” he murmurs. 

“If you’re talking about seeing yourself in the mirror I’m going to punch you.” 

He laughs. “I wasn’t, actually. But that’s also true.” 

“Of course it is.” 

He leans back to look at her. His eyes flicker over her face. “I think you’re beautiful, Detective.” 

There’s reverence in his voice, and warmth floods through Chloe’s veins. 

Lucifer grins. “Especially when you’re writhing in pleasure on top of my piano.”

“And there it is,” Chloe sighs. She pushes on his chest. “Go get your photo shoot over with, you cocky jerk.”

“You’ll meet me downstairs?”

“Yes. Go.” 

He smiles at her like a kid on Christmas morning. He kisses her one last time and then heads for his closet, whistling as he goes. 

Chloe stares after him, warmth still circulating through her body. She knows they’re in the honeymoon phase. It won’t last forever. It might not even last all night, knowing their history. But she doesn’t care. Lucifer is here instead of in Hell, and they’re together. 

Finally.

* * *

Chloe doesn’t realize she missed a call from her mom until she checks her phone on her way downstairs to meet Lucifer. 

She slows to a stop halfway to the elevator and frowns at her screen. Why is her mom calling her so late on a Saturday night? Especially when she’s in Boston for a convention. It’s the middle of the night there. 

Concern flickers in Chloe’s chest. She opens her voicemail and lifts her phone to her ear. 

“Hey, Pumpkin,” her mom’s voice says on the other end of the line. “It’s Mom. I just had the weirdest dream…”

She sighs, and Chloe frowns. Is her mom calling her because she had a nightmare?

“Last time I talked to Trix she said that you and Lucifer have started seeing each other,” she continues. 

_There it is,_ Chloe thinks. She should’ve known this was about her love life. Her mom has been sticking her nose in Chloe’s love life since she was thirteen and had her first (sort of) boyfriend. She _still_ rattles off stories about divorced couples who got remarried to each other, and then very innocently says, _So how’s Dan?_

Chloe is rolling her eyes when her mom says, “And I just...are you sure that’s a good idea, Pumpkin? Isn’t he kind of...dangerous?”

Chloe goes still. Dangerous? Why does she think Lucifer is dangerous?

“I’m going to fly to L.A. in the morning to see you,” her mom forges on. “We need to talk about this. Call me when you get this.”

The call ends. Chloe lowers the phone from her ear and frowns at it. What the hell was _that?_

The elevator pings, and Chloe glances up. 

Maze strides off the elevator, her jaw set in determination. She stops short when she sees Chloe. 

“Decker,” she says. It almost sounds like a sigh of relief. And then her eyebrows lift and her eyes rake over Chloe’s body. “You look hot.”

“Thanks,” Chloe says. She slides her phone into her clutch next to her badge and clips it closed. She’ll deal with her mom later. “What are you doing here?”

“Looking for you.”

Chloe frowns. “Me? Why?”

Maze folds her arms over her chest. “We need to talk.”

“Now?” 

“Yeah.” 

Chloe shakes her head. “Now’s not really a good time, Maze. Lucifer and I are about to—”

“It’s about Lucifer.”

“Oh.” Chloe tilts her head. “What’s wrong?”

Maze crosses the room and puts her hands on Chloe’s shoulders. Chloe stiffens. The last time they stood like this, Maze kissed her. She’s not entirely sure if that’s Maze’s intention this time—she looks serious, but not in a _Let’s make out_ way. More like a _This is life or death so I need you to listen to me_ way. 

“Lucifer is the Devil,” Maze says slowly. 

For a second, Chloe is at a loss for words. She just stands there, her eyebrows lifted and her mouth open in surprise. 

“Um,” she finally says. “Yeah. I’m aware of that, Maze.”

“No,” Maze says, shaking her head. “You think you know what that means, but you don’t. You don’t know what he’s capable of. The things he’s done.”

Chloe frowns and shrugs out of Maze’s grip. “What are you talking about? I don’t care what he’s done.”

“You don’t _care?_ ” Maze says in disbelief. “You, the cop who follows all the rules and would sacrifice your life for literally anyone just because you’re so damn good, doesn’t care about all the terrible shit your boyfriend has done?”

“I mean, I care,” Chloe says. “I just...I don’t think our past decisions define us. Just because Lucifer used to be something doesn’t mean he still is. We all have a past, Maze.”

Maze snorts. “Your past is getting naked on camera and marrying a douche. Lucifer’s past is different.”

Chloe bristles. “What is _that_ supposed to mean?” 

“It means he’s the King of Hell, Decker. He tortures people. He _hurts_ them.”

“Yeah but he didn’t _want_ to do that. It was a job. He was forced to do it.”

Maze laughs. “Is that what he told you? I was down there with him. I know what I saw. And trust me, he enjoyed it.”

Chloe shakes her head. “No.”

“Yes. Decker, come on. Think about it. You’re telling me you’ve never seen him get a little _too_ rough with someone? You’ve never seen him hurt somebody and enjoy it?”

Chloe wants to say no. She really does. But she can’t. 

“I’ve seen you do that too,” she says instead. “You’re not exactly the poster child for nonviolent restraint, Maze.”

“Yeah except you’re not in love with me, are you?”

That stops Chloe short. She folds her arms over her chest. “What’s your point?”

“My point,” Maze says, stepping closer, “is that he’s not good for you. He’s the _opposite_ of good for you. And he’s bad news for Trixie, too.”

Chloe blinks at her, stunned. And then she frowns and looks closer. There’s something different about Maze’s eyes. They’re...blue and silver? No. They’re brown, still, but there’s a flicker every once in a while, and it makes her eyes look almost like stars. 

“Are you wearing special contacts?” Chloe asks.

“What?” Maze says incredulously. “No. Decker, focus. I’m trying to tell you something.”

“Yeah, you’re trying to tell me to break up with Lucifer.”

Maze grins. “Oh, good. You do get it. Great. Let’s get out of here.” 

She grabs Chloe’s wrist and tugs, but Chloe stands her ground and pulls her arm free.

“No. Not great, Maze. I’m not breaking up with him.”

The smile drops from Maze’s lips. “You said we were friends.”

“We _are_ friends. But I don’t—”

“Friends don’t let friends do stupid shit,” Maze interrupts. “And trust me, Decker, fucking the Devil is stupid and it’s not going to end how you want it to.”

Frustration flares in Chloe’s chest. “It’s not just _fucking,_ Maze. It’s—”

“It’s what?” Maze demands. “What, exactly, do you think this is going to turn into? You think he’s going to give up Lux and this penthouse and move in with you and Trixie? You think he’s going to get down on one knee and then you guys can live happily ever after with little devils running around?”

“I don’t know what it’s going to turn into,” Chloe says, trying to keep her voice even. “That’s something Lucifer and I are going to have to figure out together, just like we’ve figured everything else out.”

“Oh you did all the rest together, huh? So he asked for your opinion before he flew down to Hell and left me to pick up the pieces?”

“Maze—”

“He doesn’t love you, Chloe.”

The words hang in the air, brash and awful. Chloe feels a familiar fear wrap around her throat like a vise. Voices whisper in the back of her mind— _he’ll leave you again he doesn’t love you he’ll get bored you’re not enough_ —but Chloe steels herself against them.

“You’re wrong,” she says quietly. She doesn’t know if she’s talking to Maze or the voices, but it doesn’t matter. They’re all wrong. 

Maze shakes her head. “No I’m not. You’ve known him for, what, a few years? I’ve known him for millennia. The only person Lucifer Morningstar is capable of loving is himself. He can’t love you, Chloe. And he doesn’t.”

For a long moment, they stare each other down. Chloe is desperately hoping that any second now, Maze is going to burst out laughing and say _Got you!_ because this is some kind of stupid prank that her weird demon sense of humor thinks is funny. But Maze doesn’t crack a smile. She’s never looked so serious. 

The reality of the situation hits Chloe like a suckerpunch. Maze is serious. She wants Chloe to break up with Lucifer.

Anger flares in her chest. She lifts her chin in defiance. “I don’t know what’s gotten into you, Maze, but I think you should go.”

“I’m not leaving,” Maze says. And then she tilts her head. “Actually, you know what? You’re right. I should go. And you’re coming with me.”

She grabs Chloe’s wrist and tugs her toward the elevator.

“No,” Chloe says, trying to yank her arm back. But Maze tightens her hold, and her fingers are like steel. Chloe tries to pull away again, but her wrist twists painfully in Maze’s grip.

She winces. “Maze, let go. You’re hurting me.”

Maze looks over her shoulder. “This is for your own good, Decker. You’re my friend, and I have to protect you. Even if it means I have to protect you from yourself.”

Her eyes are cold and determined, and fear pulses in Chloe’s chest. She wishes she had her gun. But what would she do if she did? Shoot her friend? 

“Maze, please,” she says. “Please let me go.”

Maze shakes her head. “I can’t, Decker. We’re not partners, anymore, but I’ve still got your back. You’ll thank me one day.”

She yanks Chloe after her and toward the elevator. Chloe tries to plant her feet, but her high heels slide over the polished floors. She pulls on her arm, but Maze is too strong. Chloe can feel her shoulder straining in its socket. She’s going to dislocate her own arm before she gets out of Maze’s grasp.

And then the elevator doors open and Lucifer appears. 

Maze freezes.

Chloe stumbles to a stop behind her and then exhales in relief. “Lucifer.”

“Well _there_ you are,” Lucifer says, throwing up his hands. “And you say _I_ take forever to get ready.” And then he notices Maze’s hand around Chloe’s wrist, and he frowns. “What’s this?”

“Nothing,” Maze snaps. “Decker and I are leaving.”

“I’m not going with you, Maze,” Chloe says. “Let me go.”

“No.”

Chloe casts a glance at Lucifer. Maze’s grip is hurting her again. 

Lucifer straightens as if he can read her mind. He steps forward. “Let her go, Mazikeen.”

“Don’t get in my way, Lucifer,” Maze snarls. “I’d hate to kick your ass again.”

Lucifer smirks. “Oh is that how you remember it?” 

“I remember your daddy saving your ass before I was finished with you,” Maze shoots back.

Lucifer narrows his eyes. “Let the Detective go, Mazikeen. _Now._ ” 

The last word thunders through the penthouse with all the authority of a king. Maze lets go of Chloe’s wrist, but Chloe doesn’t get a chance to feel relieved. A metallic glint flashes through the air, and suddenly Maze has her curved knives in her hands. 

“You can have anyone you want, Lucifer,” Maze snarls. “But you can’t have her.”

Lucifer tilts his head. A smirk plays over his lips. “Are you in love with my girlfriend?” 

Maze scoffs. “ _You’re_ not even in love with your girlfriend.” She sets one foot in front of the other, lifts her arms into a fighting stance, and spins her knives. “I won’t let you torture my friend.”

“Torture?” Lucifer repeats. He glances at Chloe, a question in his eyes.

She shakes her head. “I didn’t—”

“Over my dead body, Lucifer,” Maze interrupts.

Lucifer’s eyes flash. “Oh, that can be arranged.”

He charges at Maze before Chloe can say a word. Maze charges too. Her knives flash as her arms fly through the air so fast they look like blurs. Lucifer ducks and bobs and then catches one of her arms. He lifts a knee toward her ribs, but Maze twists free and then backhands him across the face. Lucifer stumbles and then rights himself immediately. 

Chloe lunges forward and intercepts him before he can go after Maze again. “Lucifer.” 

“Back off, Decker,” Maze calls. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Then cut it out,” Chloe says, glaring over her shoulder. 

“No, she’s right,” Lucifer says. Chloe turns toward him with a frown. He sweeps her toward the piano as if she’s a child. “Stay back, Detective.”

He tries to start toward Maze again, but Chloe digs her fingers into his arm. “No, Lucifer, wait. You can’t hurt her.” 

Lucifer looks at her over his shoulder. “What?”

“There’s something wrong with her.”

“Oh, there’s _plenty_ wrong with her,” Lucifer sneers, shooting a glare at Maze.

“No, I mean there’s something _wrong_ with her. Her eyes are...I don’t know, they’re weird. This isn’t her. She isn’t—”

Lucifer’s left hand shoots up, and he catches one of Maze’s blades an inch before it buries itself in his temple. 

“ _Maze,_ ” Chloe gasps, turning to look at her in shock. 

Maze ignores her. “Come on, Lightbringer,” she taunts, motioning Lucifer toward her. “Why don’t you show Decker some of that wrath you’re famous for back home?”

Lucifer snarls. He wrenches free of Chloe’s gasp and strides toward Maze. It’s his turn to slash at Maze with one of her curved knives. She ducks and dodges just like he did, slashing back with the blade she’s still got, and they twist and turn across the penthouse in a violent dance. All Chloe can do is watch, her heart in her throat. She can tell Lucifer is holding back, but Maze isn’t. She’s giving him everything she’s got. 

They’re next to the couch when Lucifer lands a hard punch to her ribs. She doubles over, and he catches her around the throat and lifts her into the air. 

“You come into _my_ house,” he spits, his eyes flashing red, “and touch _my_ Detective, and you think this will end well for you? You’re lucky she’s asked for mercy on your behalf.”

Maze pulls her arm back and buries her knife in his forearm with a snarl. Lucifer roars in pain and drops her. Maze lands on the brand new glass coffee table, and it shatters into a million pieces beneath her. Lucifer turns away from her, staggering toward the bar with his arm cradled to his chest. 

Chloe darts forward. “Lucifer,” she says, grasping at his shoulder.

He shakes his head. “Fine.”

“You have a _knife_ in your arm.”

He rips it out and it clatters onto the floor, stained with his blood. He clamps his hand onto the wound. “Not anymore,” he says, looking up at her with a grin.

Chloe covers his hand with hers and presses down to apply pressure. She glances around for something to put over the wound—a towel, a spare shirt, anything—but there’s nothing. “Damn it,” she mutters.

“You need to go, Detective.”

Chloe snaps her gaze up to meet his. “No way. I’m not leaving you.”

“Only one of us can fight a demon,” Lucifer points out, wincing when she presses harder on his arm. “And I do it much better when I’m invulnerable and not worried about you.”

“He’s right,” Maze says. Chloe glances over her shoulder. Maze is standing where the coffee table used to be, and as she steps over the bent metal frame, glass crunches beneath her boots. 

“You don’t belong in our world, Decker. You’re too fragile.”

Rage whips through Chloe’s blood, hot and furious. She lets go of Lucifer’s arm and steps between him and Maze. “Why don’t you come a little closer and I’ll show you how fragile I am, Maze.”

Maze smirks. “I like your spunk, Decker. Always have. But like I said before, I’m not interested in hurting you.” She pulls another knife—this one long and straight and lethal-looking—out of god-knows-where in her bustier. “Now move.”

Chloe shakes her head. “No.”

Behind her, the elevator pings. 

Maze smirks. “Then I’ll have them move you.”

Chloe turns around just in time to see half a dozen people pour out of the elevator. She knows all of them from work. Cacuzza is at the front of the group. 

“Decker,” she says, the same relieved sigh in her voice that Maze had earlier. “Thank God.”

Lucifer huffs. Cacuzza glares at him as she strides toward Chloe. Lucifer frowns, probably because Cacuzza has always been one of his biggest fans. 

“Deal with him,” Cacuzza says to the other cops over her shoulder. And then she grabs Chloe by the arm. “It’s okay, Decker. You’re safe now.”

Chloe frowns. “What?”

“Back off,” Hamilton says, stepping into Lucifer’s space. 

“I _beg_ your pardon?” Lucifer says.

Robbins appears on Chloe’s other side, his fingers wrapping around her arm. “Come on, Detective. We’re going to get you out of here and away from him.”

Chloe twists in his grasp. “I don’t _want_ to be away from him.”

Lucifer is suddenly there, his hand on Cacuzza’s shoulder. “I’m only going to ask once, Cacuzza,” he says, his voice low and dangerous. His hand tightens on her shoulder. “Unhand the Detective.”

Cacuzza whimpers and lets go of Chloe as she buckles under Lucifer’s grip. 

Lucifer shifts his attention toward Robbins, who reaches for his sidearm with a glare.

“Seriously?” Chloe demands, grabbing his hands before he can pull it out. 

And then Maze is slamming into Lucifer like a linebacker, and they fly backward and smash straight into the piano. The instrument collapses beneath them with a deafening crash. 

“Go!” Maze shouts over her shoulder from on top of Lucifer. “Get her out of here!” And then she turns back to Lucifer and pulls her arm back to punch him. 

Robbins tightens his hold on Chloe and tugs her toward the elevator. “Let’s go, Detective.”

Chloe grits her teeth. “I said _no._ ” 

She lifts her foot and stomps her high heel down onto the top of Robbins’s foot. He yelps in pain, and Chloe shoves the heel of her hand straight up into his nose. Blood explodes from his nostrils, and he clutches his face with an agonized scream. 

Finally free of his grip, Chloe turns around. Cacuzza is rising again, and the four other cops are standing behind her like they’re posing for a superhero movie poster. 

“Don’t make me hurt you, Cacuzza,” Chloe says, lifting her fists.

Cacuzza shakes her head. “Five against one, Decker. I like my odds.”

Chloe smirks. “So do I.”

Cacuzza reaches for her. Chloe dodges the grab and catches her wrist. She yanks hard, and Cacuzza stumbles forward and past her. Chloe twists her arm behind her back and then shoves, and Cacuzza’s shoulder pops out of socket with a sickening crack. She yells in pain as her knees buckle and she hits the floor.

Chloe feels briefly guilty until another pair of hands wraps around her shoulders. She ducks and spins, and then shoots back up and brings her fist crashing across the face of Hamilton. He staggers away from her. Karpowski is right behind him, and Chloe kicks him squarely in the chest. He goes flying backward and takes out the two cops behind him like a bowling ball. 

Chloe glances toward the demolished piano. Lucifer and Maze are standing in the middle of the wreckage, trading punches and snarling at each other. Lucifer’s face is bloody, and there’s a gash along his thigh where his gray suit is stained crimson. 

Chloe’s heart shoots into her throat, but she doesn’t have time to worry. The three cops in front of her are struggling to their feet. The first one up is Nixon. 

He steps forward and grins at her, his eyes raking over her body. 

“Nice dress, Decker,” he says, leering at her. “You look almost as good as you did coming out of that hot tub.”

“I’m going to enjoy this,” Chloe mutters. 

She grabs an abandoned whiskey glass from the bar to her left and hurls it at him. He lifts his arms to shield his face, and the glass shatters against his forearms. By the time he drops his arms, Chloe is in front of him. She swings her fist across his unprotected jaw. Pain explodes in her knuckles, but she ignores it and lifts her other fist to punch him a second time. 

Nixon sways from the force of the combo and then staggers backward. Arms wrap around Chloe from behind, locking her arms at her sides. Another cop—Jenkins this time—strides toward her from the front. 

“This is for your own good, Decker,” Jenkins says, her hands in the air. “Stop fighting. We’re here to help you.”

“I don’t need your help,” Chloe snaps. She leans backward, using whoever’s behind her for leverage and balance, and kicks both her feet out and straight into Jenkins’s chest so that the cop flies backward.

Chloe’s heels land on the floor with a dull thunk, and she bends forward to try to keep her balance. The weight of the person behind her is too much, though. Gravity pulls at them, and Chloe tucks her head and rolls. She lands on her back and on top of whoever is behind her. She twists, wrenching her arm free, and then sends her elbow shooting backward. Whoever is beneath her exhales a sharp gasp in her ear and their grip loosens.

Chloe scrambles to her feet and glances down. Hamilton is wheezing on the ground at her feet. Jenkins and Karpowski are headed her way. She grabs the closest weapon she can find—a tall bottle of very expensive whiskey—and brandishes it like a baseball bat. 

Jenkins and Karpowski slow down.

“Easy,” Jenkins says.

“Come on, guys,” Chloe says. “Don’t make me do this. Just leave us alone.”

Karpowski holds his hands up placatingly. “I know you think you love him, Decker. But love doesn’t hurt.”

Chloe frowns. “What the hell does _that_ mean?”

Before either of them can answer her, Maze flies through the air behind them. The demon’s body slams into the wall of liquor bottles behind the bar with a crash so loud Chloe thinks she might end up partially deaf. 

Jenkins and Karpowski flinch and turn toward the sound. Chloe seizes her chance. She smashes the whiskey bottle on Karpowski’s head, and then shoves Jenkins’s head into the bar. They fall onto the floor, unconscious, in almost perfect unison. 

For a moment, everything is finally still. Chloe’s ears are ringing from the sound of breaking glass. She glances out over the wrecked penthouse and sees Lucifer standing by the demolished piano, his chest rising and falling faster than normal as he sways unsteadily on his feet. Their eyes meet.

Chloe lunges toward him. Lucifer stumbles toward her, tripping over a jagged corner of the piano, and Chloe catches him as he tilts forward. He grasps her shoulders for balance, steadies himself, and then immediately puts his hands on her face. 

“Are you okay?” he rasps, his voice cracking. “Did they hurt you? Are you hurt?”

“I’m okay. Are you okay?” 

“Yes, yes, I’m fine.”

She glances down at his leg where the gash is, and then up at the cut on his face. The wound in his forearm from Maze’s knife is leaking, splattering crimson droplets on the floor between Chloe’s high heels. 

“Lucifer,” she breathes, her throat suddenly tight.

“I’m fine, darling.”

“You’re bleeding in like eight places.”

“Yes, I tend to do that when you’re around.” He glances past her, probably at her colleagues, who she left in various states of unconsciousness and pain. “Something is wrong.”

“Yeah, you think?” Chloe says. “This has celestial craziness written all over it.”

Lucifer shakes his head. “I don’t think this is divine.”

“Then what—”

The sound of more glass breaking echoes through the penthouse. Chloe turns toward the sound. Maze is getting to her feet slowly behind the bar. 

“Shit,” Chloe exhales. 

“Detective,” Lucifer calls. Chloe turns to look at him. “I need to talk to Mazikeen. I need to determine what all this is about. She’ll tell me what she knows, but only if you aren’t here.”

“No,” Chloe says, shaking her head. “I told you, I’m not afraid to see your dark side. So if you want to interrogate Maze—”

“It’s not about that,” he cuts her off impatiently. “Whatever’s happening, it’s clearly about you. These people want to keep you away from me. We can buy ourselves time by giving them what they want.” 

“Lucifer—”

He lifts his hand to her face. “It’s only temporary, love. You can slip out of this club without anyone stopping you, but not if I’m at your side. We don’t know who else will come here looking for you, and I need to be invulnerable. This is the only way. You have to leave me.”

_Love,_ Chloe thinks. _He called me love._ But she can’t dwell on it. Behind her, glass is crashing to the ground. She glances over her shoulder and sees Maze climbing slowly over the bar. 

“Not dead yet, Lucifer,” Maze calls.

“Go,” Lucifer says to Chloe. “I’ll meet you at our beach. _Go._ ”

Chloe hesitates. She doesn’t want to leave him, but he’s right. If she goes, she’ll draw away anyone else who might come trying to “save” her. And if they’re apart, he’ll be invulnerable. He’ll heal. 

She grabs his face and kisses him hard, just for a second, because she can’t help it. 

“I love you,” she whispers. 

And then she bolts for the elevator, stopping only to scoop her clutch off the floor so that she has her car keys. 

The elevator doors are still open. Chloe slips inside and slams her finger on the button for the main level. 

“Not so fast, Decker!” Maze shouts. 

Chloe slams her finger against the door button repeatedly. “Come on, come on,” she mutters.

The elevator doors start to close. Maze is sprinting toward the elevator, a determined glint in her eye, but Lucifer cuts her off. He tackles her, and they slam into the floor. The doors are closing, but Chloe keeps pressing the button anyway. They’re almost closed completely when an arm slips through the gap and stops them. 

The doors shudder and slide open again, and Chloe finds herself face to face with Nixon.

His bottom lip is a bloodied mess from their last encounter. “Hey Decker,” he says with a grin. There’s blood staining his teeth. 

He lunges at her. Chloe tries to swing at him, but he blocks her and wraps his hand around her throat. He shoves her backward and she chokes, her heels slipping on the elevator floor until her back slams hard against the elevator wall. 

Back in the penthouse, Lucifer roars her name. Chloe glances over Nixon’s shoulder and sees Lucifer, his eyes alight with rage, trying to scramble after her. Maze catches his foot and yanks, and he smacks onto the floor. 

The doors slide closed before Lucifer can get to his feet. The elevator starts to descend. Chloe claws at Nixon’s fingers around her throat. She can’t breathe.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Nixon asks, pressing himself up against her and dipping his head toward hers.

Chloe turns her face away from his. Nausea wells up in her throat. She can _feel_ him. 

“Came to save you from the Devil,” he whispers to her, his breath hot on her cheek. “What do you think my reward should be?”

It doesn’t take a genius to guess what he thinks it should be, and Chloe sees red. She lifts her right arm, thrusts it down across Nixon’s, and sends her elbow rocketing backward into his face. He stumbles back from her with a cry of pain, blood flowing from his nose. 

Chloe follows him, adrenaline pulsing through her veins. She grabs his shoulders, pulls him forward, and then slams her knee into his groin. 

“How’s that for a reward?” she snarls.

Nixon’s eyes bulge. His hands drop from his bloodied nose to grab his crotch. He falls to his knees, still holding himself as his face turns a brilliant shade of purple. He chokes on a strangled sound, and then he collapses at her feet.

“Dick,” Chloe mutters. 

She bends over to grab her clutch from the floor where she dropped it, and then brushes off her dress in disgust. The elevator doors slide open and she strides off, leaving Nixon on the floor in the fetal position.

She’s rounding the corner out of the hallway and into the club when she runs into someone’s chest. She steps back in surprise, and comes face to face with Rick. 

“Detective,” he says. His eyes flicker over her, but not like Nixon’s did. He seems to be checking to see if she’s okay. “I was just on my way up to see you.”

Warning sirens blare in the black of Chloe’s mind. “You were?”

Rick reaches out to touch her arm. “Are you all right?” 

Chloe wants to ask him why she wouldn’t be all right and what the fuck is wrong with everyone, but he has the same look on his face that all her colleagues did right before they tried to forcibly remove her from Lucifer’s presence. Given the adrenaline that’s coursing through her veins, she’s pretty sure she could take Rick without much trouble. But she doesn’t know who else is coming behind him, and she can’t afford to waste time. The faster she gets away from Lucifer, the faster he’s invulnerable and starts to heal. That’s all that matters.

Which means she’s going to have to sell this.

“I’m fine,” she says. She brushes her hand over her dress like she’s trying to dust off something disgusting, and then she straightens her shoulders like she’s pissed as hell. “And I’m sorry, Rick, but I don’t think you’ll be seeing me around here anymore.”

Rick frowns. “Why’s that?”

“Because I just dumped your boss,” Chloe snaps. “He’s upstairs with some other woman. More than one, actually.” She gestures at her dress. “Do I look like the kind of woman who puts up with that shit?”

Rick smiles. “No, Detective. You don’t.”

“Because I’m not,” Chloe replies. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have _other_ places to be.”

She brushes past him, hoping and praying that he isn’t going to pull a Nixon or, even worse, a Maze.

“Detective,” Rick calls out after her. 

Chloe freezes. She takes a deep breath, and then turns around. “Yeah?”

Rick smiles. “It’s his loss. You’re better off without him.”

Chloe’s heart twists in her chest. _No, I’m definitely not,_ she thinks.

But she pastes a smile on her face and nods. “Thanks, Rick.”

And then she turns and walks as fast as she can out of the club, her hands curled into fists and her eyes blurred with tears.


	10. Ten

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys there is so much ouch in this chapter, I am SO sorry. (That’s not even true. I’m not sorry at all. It will all be worth it in the end, I promise.)

Maze is unconscious. 

Lucifer stands in the den of his mansion in Hollywood Hills, affixing cufflinks to the clean suit he recently put on, and stares at the demon slumped and chained to a chair in the middle of the room. 

She is bloodied and bruised. She looks terrible. She looks like she was interrogated by the Devil.

He’s not sorry. 

It’s not enough. It’s not even _close_ to enough. He wants to punish her. She _deserves_ to be punished. She has betrayed him so many times, and he’s always waved it off as part of her nature, but her most recent betrayals have wounded those closest to him. One person, in particular. Hurting him is one thing. But hurting his Detective? 

That is another thing entirely. 

He can feel the wrath pulsing through his veins. His vision is tinted red. He wants to punish Mazikeen—he _desires_ it—and he has never refused himself what he desires. But the Detective’s voice whispers in his ear, just as it has so many times before.

_Don’t. Be better._

“The things I do for you,” he mutters to the vision of her in his mind. She gives him that smile that sends his heart galloping and then she evaporates, and he’s alone.

Well, not entirely.

He finishes with his cufflinks and paces a half circle around Mazikeen. There’s blood on the white marble floor beneath her feet. He has no intention of cleaning it, which means it will likely stain. He adds that to the growing list of things Mazikeen will need to apologize for when all this is over. 

Speaking of, he’s still not sure what _this_ is. He knows more than he did when he launched off the balcony of his penthouse with an unconscious Mazikeen in his arms, barely disappearing into the sky before a dozen cops poured out of the elevator with their guns drawn. For instance, he now understands what the Detective meant when she said Mazikeen’s eyes were _weird._ Every few seconds, her normally brown eyes flicker silver and blue. He’s certain he’s seen something similar before, but he can’t place his finger on where or when. He has an excellent memory, but even he has trouble remembering everyone he’s met and everything he’s experienced over the course of millennia. 

He tried to get the answer out of Mazikeen. That went about as well as asking the Detective’s offspring to summarize her day at school in a sentence or less. All Mazikeen did was rant and rave and snarl about how dangerous and evil he is, and how the Detective deserves so much better than what he can offer. Finally, in a fit of rage, he knocked her out just to shut her up. 

Now here he stands, adjusting his suit so that he doesn’t return to the Detective looking like a bedraggled serial killer, silently fuming that he doesn’t have any solid answers for her. The Detective likes to _know_ things. She likes facts and proof and evidence and answers. He has none of those. He knows that whatever this is, it’s not divine. His siblings don’t have the power to do something like this. His father does, and Lucifer has never been one to rule out his father’s nefarious interference, but this seems far too out of character. His father allows terrible things to happen, and Lucifer holds him responsible for that, but even he can admit that his father wouldn’t do this. Particularly given how fond he became of the Detective during his brief stint as a ride along. 

The only other thing he knows is that Mazikeen seems to be completely unaware that she’s acting like a lunatic. She seems to truly _believe_ what she’s saying, and that means it’s likely that whatever this is has altered her mind in some way. He suspects it could be magic, but he’s unsure about who has this kind of reach. It’s one thing to cast a spell over a single human. It’s another thing to cast it over dozens of humans and a demon. 

He’s afraid to know how many people are under the spell. He’s afraid of how the Detective will react when she finds out that magic exists, and that her boyfriend has so many enemies with access to magic that he can’t even be sure which one instigated their current situation.

Thinking of her possible shock makes him antsy. He’s been away from her for too long. He feels the tug in his chest he always feels in her absence, the restless energy and dull ache that never seem to dissipate unless he’s in her presence. She’s more than capable of taking care of herself, he knows. But he also knows she’s frightened and confused, and probably struggling with how out of control she feels, and he hates that. He hates the idea of her being anything but happy. 

“You’re thinking about it, aren’t you?”

Mazikeen’s voice cuts through the silence like one of her knives. Lucifer lifts his head to look at her. 

“About what I said,” she rasps with a sneer. “About how much better off Decker would be without you.”

Lucifer slides his hands into his pockets. “Actually I was thinking about how much better off she’d be without _you._ ”

Mazikeen spits out some blood and it lands on the marble floor with a smack. “You wouldn’t say that if you knew what it was like after you abandoned her.”

That catches Lucifer off guard. He furrows his eyebrows, and then realizes his mistake and tries to smooth out his expression.

But it’s too late. Mazikeen is Hell’s most fearsome torturer, and she knows when she’s hit a nerve.

“You ruined her, Lucifer,” she says in a low voice, leaning forward as far as the chains around her body will allow. “All she wanted to do was party. She was two steps away from becoming an alcoholic.”

“Liar,” Lucifer hisses.

Mazikeen smirks. “Am I? Why don’t you ask her next time you see her? Or, better yet, why don’t you ask Dan how many times she showed up to work with a hangover? Or ask Trixie how many times she crawled into her mom’s bed at night because she was worried about leaving her alone?”

Guilt gnaws at Lucifer’s chest, threatening to eat him alive. He tries to shove it away. “That’s over now,” he says, hoping if he says it aloud then it will be true. “I’m back.”

“Doesn’t change what you did to her,” Mazikeen says, shaking her head. “Do you know how many times I had to fend off some creep who would have taken advantage of her? Do you know what would have happened to her if I hadn’t—”

“ _Enough,_ ” Lucifer snarls, curling his hands into fists.

Mazikeen grins. “Same old Lucifer. You never could look in the mirror with both eyes open.”

“I’m not the one lacking self-awareness, Mazikeen,” Lucifer counters. “You fancy yourself Cerberus, but you’re just a lost puppy looking for a home. It’s too bad no one wants you.”

Mazikeen’s eyes flash. “And you think they want _you?_ ”

“Everyone wants me, darling.”

Mazikeen barks out a harsh laugh. “Everyone except the people _you_ want. Decker can say she loves you all she wants, and maybe she even means it right now, but it won’t last. She ran when she found out who you are. And she’ll run again when she realizes that you’re never going to change.”

Fear wells up in Lucifer’s throat but he swallows it down. He refuses to let a demon get the best of him. “You’re wrong. The Detective and I are past that. I have faith in her. In us.”

Mazikeen smirks. “You’re going to need a lot more than faith to keep a woman like that, Lucifer.”

“And who’s going to take her from me? You?” He stalks across the room and bends forward so that they’re eye level. “I’d love to see you try.” 

“I won’t have to,” Mazikeen replies, leaning forward so that their faces are inches apart. “You’ll do that all by yourself just by being who you are.”

Lucifer straightens with a scoff and stalks away from her.

“Scoff all you want, Lucifer,” she calls out after him. “You know I’m right. You’re on your best behavior because you’re finally getting to fuck her—”

“ _Watch_ _your_ _mouth,_ ” Lucifer snarls, slipping into his true form and whipping around to face her. “Or so help me Dad, Mazikeen, I _will_ destroy you.”

Mazikeen is briefly silent, her lips pursed together, and then she lifts her chin. “She hasn’t seen all of you. She doesn’t know what you are or what you’re capable of.”

His true form feels monstrous all of a sudden. He slips back into his human form and tugs at his suit jacket. “A whole is greater than the sum of its parts.”

“Not when your parts are rotten at the core. She’s good, Lucifer. Like, _disgustingly_ good. And you’re not.”

Lucifer wants to argue with her. But he can’t. 

“You’re not good enough for her,” Mazikeen says, her voice dropping low. “You know it, and I know it. It’s only a matter of time before she figures it out too.”

For a moment, Lucifer can’t speak. He’s caught in a memory of the Detective, tears streaming down her face, telling him that she’s terrified of him and doesn’t know if she can accept him. He knows they’re past that now. He _knows_ that. But there’s also part of him, somewhere deep down in a place he doesn’t like to acknowledge, that can’t help but wonder if it even matters. She’s accepted what she knows. But she doesn’t know everything. She hasn’t seen everything.

What happens when she does?

“Just spare yourself the pain and let her go,” Mazikeen presses. “Trust me, it’s not worth it.”

For a second, he’s frozen. Maybe Mazikeen is right. Maybe he’s too far gone even for a miracle. Surely someone as good as the Detective can’t want someone as dark and twisted and damaged as him. 

But then the Detective whispers in his ear, her voice soft and fierce. 

_I love you._

The ache in his chest intensifies. He’s been away too long. He needs to be near her again. 

He unfurls his wings. 

“Lucifer,” Mazikeen warns.

“She’s worth it,” he cuts her off. “She’s worth all of it.”

He leaves before she can argue.

* * *

When Chloe pulls into an empty parking spot on the street near the beach, she shoves the gear shift into park with a sigh. 

She turns the keys in the ignition. The engine hums to a stop. Silence balloons, piercingly loud in her ears except for the distant sound of the ocean. She buries her head in her hands and sighs again. There’s a headache starting to throb between her eyes. She’s tired. Her body is sore, and her feet ache from these heels. 

She’s supposed to be at dinner with Lucifer. They’re supposed to be tucked into the back corner of some ridiculously romantic restaurant where the chef owes him a favor, smiling at each other over glasses of wine. He’s supposed to put his hand on her knee under the table, and she’s supposed to tell him to behave even though she doesn’t want him to. They’re supposed to be together. Instead, Lucifer is bloodied and bruised and doing god-knows-what to Maze, and Chloe is sitting alone in her cruiser, wondering what the hell is going on.

She tilts her head back against the headrest and stares out the windshield. She has no idea how long she’ll be waiting here. Maze doesn’t seem like the type to break easily in an interrogation, but Lucifer knows things Chloe doesn’t. Maybe he knows how to get her to talk. Or maybe Chloe is going to be sitting here in this stupid dress all night, trying and failing to breathe around the worry lodged in her throat, until the sun comes up and she has to decide whether to keep waiting or go back for him.

The minutes drag by. It’s like the stakeout from hell. She wonders, suddenly, whether Lucifer will be able to find her if she’s sitting in her car. It’s late and there aren’t many people around, but her car is pretty nondescript. Lucifer said _I’ll meet you at our beach_ not _I’ll look for your car on the street._ Maybe if she goes out on the beach, he’ll come sooner. 

It’s stupid and illogical but she does it anyway. She pulls her keys from the ignition, shoves them in her clutch, and then gets out of the car. She heads toward the beach. It’s closed, but she’s not worried. She’s got her badge in her clutch in case any of the beach patrols wander by. 

When she gets to the sand, she stops and slips her high heels off. A memory of the look on Lucifer’s face when he told her they were staying on floats across her mind, and her chest aches. She pushes the memory away and wanders out toward the water, holding her heels by the ankle straps. The sand is cold beneath her feet. There’s a breeze coming off the ocean, and she shivers. She should’ve grabbed the jacket she keeps in her trunk. This dress wasn’t made to keep her warm.

She isn’t sure if she ends up in the exact place where she kissed Lucifer for the first time. That’s the downfall of darkness and the seemingly endless stretch of water and sand—it all looks the same. She uses the landmarks she can see inland, though, and tries her best. When she finally stops, she surveys her surroundings. There’s no one else in sight, so Lucifer should be able to spot her regardless of whether he walks to the beach from his car or flies overhead.

_Flies,_ she thinks with a snort of disbelief. With his wings. Because he’s an angel. Her boyfriend is an angel. And also the Devil. The _actual_ Devil. 

Her life is so nuts.

She looks out at the ocean and breathes it in, trying to clear her mind of everything but the sound of the waves crashing into the shore and the chill of the sand between her toes. The cloud cover is heavy, so there are no stars and no moon to light the sky. It’s dark. Black as one of Lucifer’s suits.

Chloe closes her eyes. She came out here a few times when he was down in Hell. She felt close to him here, because this was the place where she first realized that she might be falling in love with him. The way she felt about him scared her, but it seems so simple now. There’s no _might_ about it. There’s no more hesitation or guessing. She’s head over heels. 

“Chloe?”

Chloe jumps at the sound of her name, and turns to see Dan standing in the distance. 

“Dan?” she exhales in surprise. 

At first, she’s relieved—after the nightmare at the penthouse and the oppressive silence of the drive over here, it’s nice to see a familiar face. But then she remembers why the penthouse was a nightmare, and apprehension flickers in her chest. Did Dan seek her out for the same reason Maze and Cacuzza did?

“What are you doing here?” she asks.

He walks toward her through the sand. “The lieutenant called me. She said there was an incident involving you at Lux but you weren’t answering your phone and they couldn’t ping it for a location. Are you okay?”

Chloe frowns. “Keller called you?” 

He stops next to her. “Yeah, Dispatch called her when they heard you were involved.”

“But how’d _you_ find me?” she presses. She turned her phone off as soon as she got in her car at Lux. That’s why Keller couldn’t track it.

“I hacked the signal on your cruiser,” he says with a shrug. “Like you did at Palmetto. Are you okay? You look spooked.”

He reaches for her, but Chloe recoils from his grasp. 

Dan frowns, and then holds his hands up. “Okay. Sorry. Staying in my space.”

He slides his hands into his pockets. Chloe studies him suspiciously, and then leans forward and squints at him through the darkness. She wants to see if his eyes are flickering silver and blue like Maze’s did. She doesn’t remember any of the cops having a similar flicker, but she didn’t really get a chance to look at them too closely, seeing as she was a little busy kicking their asses. She’s not sure why it matters, or if she’s just being ridiculous, but she’s got a gut feeling she can’t ignore. The flicker means something.

There’s no flicker in Dan’s eyes, though. They’re the same shade of gray they’ve always been.

“You’re not here to _save_ me, are you?” she asks.

Dan looks confused. He glances around at the empty beach. “From what?”

Chloe almost says _Lucifer,_ but decides it’s probably smarter to keep her mouth shut.

Dan’s frown deepens. “Do you _need_ me to save you?”

“No.”

“Okay. Then no, I’m not here to save you.”

Chloe studies him for another moment, still suspicious, but there’s no flicker in his eyes and he doesn’t burst into a speech about how Lucifer is the worst thing that’s ever happened to her, so she exhales slowly.

“Okay,” she says. “Sorry. I just...it’s been a weird night.”

“You’ve had a lot of those lately.”

Chloe snorts in agreement and looks out at the ocean. The familiarity of his presence—and relief that he’s not here to “save” her, whatever the hell that means—wraps around her like a warm blanket. Maybe whatever happened back at Lux was confined to Lux. Like, someone cast a celestial spell over the building or something just to mess with Lucifer. It sounds ridiculous, she knows, but she used to think the idea of Lucifer being the actual Devil was ridiculous. 

“So you want to tell me why you’re out on the beach in the middle of the night?” Dan asks, breaking the silence between them.

Chloe sighs. “I don’t think you’d believe me if I told you.”

“Try me.”

Chloe searches for the words to describe what happened at the penthouse but can’t find them. “I’m waiting for Lucifer,” she says instead. Because it’s true. 

“Is that why you’re wearing that dress?”

There’s something in his voice that makes Chloe look at him. “What?”

Dan doesn’t look at her. He purses his lips the way he does when he’s upset, and then looks down at the sand. “You know, the Chloe I know would be at home with a book and some tea right now. Not standing on a beach in the middle of the night in a dress that doesn’t leave much to the imagination.”

The words feel like a slap across the face. Chloe blinks at him, too stunned to say anything. 

“You don’t need to change for him, you know,” Dan says, turning to face her. “In fact, you shouldn’t. He’s not worth it.”

For a moment, all Chloe can think about is Lucifer standing where Dan is standing now, saying the same thing. _I’m not worth it._ But then she sees it—a blue and silver flicker in Dan’s eyes—and the memory evaporates. A shiver drills down her spine. 

“It got you too,” she breathes. 

Dan frowns. “What got me?”

_Do what you did with Rick,_ a voice that sounds a lot like Lucifer hisses in the back of Chloe’s mind. _Lie before it’s too late._

Chloe shakes her head. “Nothing. I just…” She looks out at the ocean and sighs like she’s just had a realization. “I was just thinking the same thing,” she says. “About Lucifer, I mean.”

Dan rubs his hand over her back comfortingly. “I’m sorry, Chlo. I know you were hoping he’d be better. But some people just don’t change, you know?”

Chloe’s heart is pounding in her chest. She wants to jerk away from his touch because this isn’t Dan, just like whoever was at the penthouse wasn’t Maze or Cacuzza or any of the others, but she knows she can’t. 

The ocean breeze lifts her hair, and she shoves it behind her ear and turns away from the shore. “You’re right,” she says, giving Dan the best resigned sigh she can muster. “I should head home. Drink some tea like the old lady I am.” She reaches out and squeezes his forearm. “Thanks, Dan. I’ll call you tomorrow.” 

She starts to head back to her car, but Dan catches her hand. “Wait.”

Chloe’s heart shoots into her throat. She turns around. 

Dan’s gaze flickers over her face like he’s reading a suspect, and then his expression hardens. “You’re going to do it again, aren’t you?”

“Do what?”

“Forgive him.”

Chloe shakes her head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“That’s what you do,” Dan says, dropping her hand. “He runs off to Vegas and marries a stripper, you forgive him. He shows up to a crime scene in assless pants, you forgive him. He abandons you for months, not so much as a text or a call to check in, and you forgive him. Now his crazy ass family is in town, and you got freaking _kidnapped,_ and you’re right back with him again.”

The voice in the back of Chloe’s mind is telling her to stay calm and play along, but she ignores it. It makes sense that she couldn’t reason with Maze, because Maze is...well, Maze. But Dan is different. They used to be married. He’s one of her best friends. They have a kid together, for god’s sake. She can get through to him. She knows she can. 

“It wasn’t Lucifer’s fault I got kidnapped, Dan.”

“Of course not,” Dan says, throwing up his hands. “Nothing is _ever_ his fault.”

“That’s not fair. I’ve held him accountable for his mistakes and you know that. But he’s not responsible for what other people do.”

“ _Other_ people? Jesus Christ, Chloe, what’s it going to take? What’s so special about him that he gets a million chances and nobody else does?”

Chloe frowns at him. “What are you talking about?”

“You know exactly what I’m talking about,” Dan says, brandishing his index finger at her. “You and me—”

“What happened between us has nothing to do with Lucifer.”

“Bullshit. We would’ve worked things out if he hadn’t showed up.”

“Dan, you _lied_ to me. Repeatedly. You let me become the department pariah because you cared more about saving your own ass than telling me the truth.”

“Oh and Lucifer never lies to you?”

“No!” Chloe explodes, all the frustration from the last hour finally boiling over. “He has _always_ told me the truth, no matter how many times I refused to believe him, and that’s more than I can say for you.”

Dan clenches his jaw and puts his hands on his hips. “Look, I’m not perfect, okay? I know we can’t go back to the way things were, and I’m not asking for that. I’m just trying to get you to see that you’re blind as a bat when it comes to him. He’s got the wool pulled so far over your eyes—”

“No,” Chloe interrupts. “You’re wrong. I can see just fine, Dan. I know him. He’s a good man.”

“He’s the _Devil,_ Chloe.”

“That doesn’t mean he isn’t good.”

“I can’t believe this,” Dan says, laughing in disbelief. He throws up his hands. “You’re crazy.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard that before,” Chloe says bitterly. “Wasn’t true after Palmetto, and it’s not true now.”

Dan narrows his eyes at her. “You know, it’s one thing to do this to yourself. But dragging our daughter into it too is pretty shitty.” 

Chloe frowns. “What the hell does Trixie have to do with this?”

“That jackass is going to get you killed,” Dan snaps, stepping into her space. “Do you want Trixie to lose her mom? You know what it feels like to lose a parent. Do you want our daughter to feel like that too?”

Chloe feels like she’s been slapped again. Angry tears well up in her eyes. “How dare you throw that in my face.” 

Dan ignores her. “We have one red line, Chloe, one non-negotiable, and that’s Trixie. Lucifer is the Devil. He’s dangerous and he’s evil and he can’t be trusted around her. Why can’t you see that?”

“He’s saved her _life,_ Dan. And mine, multiple times. In fact, one of those times was from Malcolm, and he only had to do that because _you_ didn’t come clean sooner. If there’s anyone I should be worried about trusting Trixie with, it’s _you._ ”

Dan clenches his jaw and clenches his fists. “I don’t want him around our kid, Chloe.”

“Too damn bad. He’s not going anywhere.”

“Fine. If you won’t put her first, then you don’t get her anymore.”

“What does _that_ mean?”

“It means you either dump that asshole, or I’m suing for full custody.”

The words hit like a grenade. Chloe’s ears are ringing. It’s suddenly hard to breathe. She waits for remorse to shiver over Dan’s face the way it always does after he says something he doesn’t mean, but he doesn’t even blink. 

He’s serious. 

“You can’t do that,” she murmurs.

He nods. “Yes I can. And I will.”

“You won’t win.”

“I will when Lucifer takes the stand and tells the judge he’s the Devil.” A humorless smile curves Dan’s lips. “He doesn’t lie, remember?”

Panic claws at Chloe’s chest. He’s right. Everyone in the world seems to have it out for Lucifer right now, and a judge won’t be any different. She could lose Trixie. 

Chloe shakes her head. “You can’t do this to me, Dan.”

“I’m not doing it to you. I’m doing it for her.”

“But you know him. You _know_ him.”

“What I know is that he’s a drunk, arrogant, self-obsessed man whore, and he has the mother of my child so twisted up in knots that she’s willing to overlook her own daughter’s safety for him,” Dan spits. “ _Look_ at yourself, Chloe. He’s got you out in the middle of the night by yourself, wearing a dress and fuck-me heels like some kind of—”

Chloe doesn’t wait for him to call her a whore. She punches him before he can finish. Her fist collides with the side of his mouth, and he stumbles through the sand and away from her. He stays hunched over for a minute, lifting his hand to his mouth. When he finally straightens and drops his hand, she sees blood on his bottom lip. 

“Guess that’s my answer then,” he says. He shakes his head and wipes his hand on his jeans. “Never thought I’d see the day when you picked some guy over Trixie.”

He starts toward the parking lot, but Chloe cuts him off. 

“No,” she says, putting her hands out to shove lightly on his chest. “No, Dan, I’m not...just stop, okay? Listen to me. This isn’t real.”

“This isn’t _real?_ ” he repeats incredulously.

“This isn’t you,” she rephrases. “Something is happening and I don’t...it’s a manipulation, or a spell, or a...shit, I don’t _know,_ okay? I’m still learning all this stuff but it’s not real. You wouldn’t do this to me. You would _never_ do this.”

“Watch me,” he snarls. 

He tries to push past her, and she digs her nails into his forearm and tries to stop him, and the next thing she knows they’re struggling with each other in the sand.

“Let go, Chloe.”

“No. She’s my _kid,_ Dan.”

“She’s my kid, too.”

“Then don’t—”

“You made your choice.”

“There shouldn’t have to _be_ a choice, if you would just _listen_ to me—”

“ _No._ ”

And then he shoves her backward and pulls his gun from his belt and takes aim at her chest, and everything goes still. 

A wave crashes on the shore behind Chloe. A breeze blows, and it ruffles the hem of her dress and her hair. Goosebumps race over her skin. Another wave crashes into the sand. 

Chloe lifts her hands slowly. “Dan,” she says quietly. 

There are tears in her ex-husband’s eyes. Memories assault her. He cried when she walked down the aisle toward him. He cried when the nurses put Trixie in his arms for the first time. 

She realizes she’s crying too. “Please,” she whispers.

Dan shakes his head at her. “Why him, Chloe?” he asks, his voice cracking. “Of all the men to leave us for, you chose...”

_The Devil._ He doesn’t say it, but he doesn’t have to.

“I’m not leaving you, Dan. I’m not.”

“You can’t even pretend, can you?” Dan asks. “You can’t even pretend you’ll let him go.”

There’s a rustling sound to Chloe’s left, and then Lucifer’s voice cuts through the night and says, “That’s enough, Daniel.”

Dan spins, his gun shifting to aim at Lucifer, who is standing a few yards to Dan’s right. 

Chloe lunges forward to get between them. “No, don’t—”

“Stay there, Chloe,” Lucifer commands, holding his hand out. 

Chloe goes still at the sound of her first name coming out of his mouth. Lucifer is wearing a different suit than before—this one is black with a white shirt—but any questions about why he had to change are drowned out by the sight of his wings. 

She’s seen them before. She saw them the night he left her. But she was so consumed by the yawning cavern of grief in her chest that she hadn’t given them much thought. She forgot how beautiful they are. Gleaming and pure white, they’re stunning against the backdrop of the black sky. He holds his shoulders back when they’re unfurled, like he’s proud of them. And he should be. They’re breathtaking. 

“Holy shit, man,” Dan breathes. “You have…”

“Wings?” Lucifer says. “Yes, I’m afraid that’s par for the course when you’re an angel.”

Chloe thinks this is the first time she’s ever heard him call himself that. She doesn’t think it’s an accident that he hasn’t put his wings away yet. 

Lucifer nods at the gun. “You know that won’t accomplish what you think it will, Daniel.”

For a second, Chloe thinks he just lied. But then she realizes he’s just telling the truth strategically. Dan doesn’t know Lucifer is vulnerable again. He just knows that the last time he tried to shoot Lucifer, it didn’t work. 

Dan shakes his head. “I don’t want you near my kid.”

“I would never harm her, Daniel.”

“Like you’d never hurt Chloe, right?”

Guilt shivers across Lucifer’s face. “I deeply regret any pain I’ve caused the Detective. My intentions are never—”

“Intentions don’t mean shit, man,” Dan cuts him off. “You think I wanted to hurt her? You think I slid that ring on her finger thinking that someday I’d screw it all up?”

“Dan,” Chloe whispers.

Lucifer steps forward. “You’re more than your mistakes, Daniel. You’re a good man. I’ve witnessed it firsthand. I know you don’t want to hurt anyone. So why don’t we put the gun away, hm? Have a civilized conversation without the threat of imminent death.”

Dan doesn’t lower the gun. 

“Come on, Daniel,” Lucifer says. He takes another subtle step forward. “Use that cop brain of yours and think. Think about what you know about the Detective. She puts Beatrice first always. _Always._ There’s not a mother on this planet who loves her child more than the Detective loves hers. She would never put your daughter at risk.”

“Use my cop brain, huh?” Dan says. “You want to know what my cop brain thinks?”

Lucifer tilts his head, and Chloe can tell he’s trying to swallow a sarcastic comment. “Do tell,” he says. 

“It thinks that if you were bulletproof like you were before, Chloe wouldn’t look so scared. And you would have already taken this gun out of my hands.” 

Dan clenches his jaw and straightens his aim, and Chloe knows. 

He’s going to shoot Lucifer. 

“No!” she shouts. 

Lucifer’s wings sweep forward with a _whoosh_ sound, and a strong gust of wind rushes past Chloe and slams into Dan. He goes flying backward, his arms pinwheeling, and the gun sails through the air. It lands in the sand a few feet from Chloe, and she scrambles forward to grab it. 

She straightens and aims it at Dan, but Lucifer is already there—he’s kneeling behind Dan, one arm wrapped around his neck, and Dan starts choking as the crook of Lucifer’s arm presses against his throat.

“Lucifer,” Chloe calls.

“I only want him out of commission, Detective,” Lucifer replies. “You needn’t worry.”

Dan’s eyes are bulging and his face is turning red. He’s clawing at Lucifer’s arm, and when his eyes meet Chloe’s she can see the panic in them. 

“It’s okay,” she tries to reassure him. “You’ll be okay.”

“Trixie,” he croaks. 

He claws at Lucifer’s arm for another second or two, and then his eyelids droop and his body goes limp. 

Lucifer lets him fall gently into the sand and then gets to his feet. “Right,” he says, dusting off his hands. “Can’t say I’ve never wanted to do that.”

Chloe stares at Dan. He’s sprawled in the sand, his head tipped back toward the sky and his mouth open. There’s still blood on his bottom lip from where she punched him. She blinks hard, trying to convince herself that this is just a dream and she needs to wake up, but she can’t. Her knuckles ache. The breeze is cold on her skin. It feels too real to be a dream. 

_I’m suing for full custody._

A sob builds unexpectedly in her chest and she sucks in a sharp breath. 

Lucifer looks up in alarm. “Detective?”

Chloe presses the back of her hand to her mouth. She’s still holding the gun. Her eyes are welling up again, and suddenly the world is blurry. She closes her eyes tightly, but it doesn’t matter. The tears leak out anyway.

She feels Lucifer’s thumbs stroke over her cheeks a moment later. “Detective,” he whispers.

She opens her eyes to look up at him and lowers her hand from her mouth. “When he wakes up, will he remember this?” 

Lucifer shakes his head. “I don’t see why not.”

“So he could…” She can’t bring herself to say it. She swallows around the tightness of her throat and tries to focus on what she can control, what she can do to fix this and get things back to normal. 

“What did Maze say?”

“Nothing useful, I’m afraid.” A breeze catches some strands of Chloe’s hair, and Lucifer tucks them behind her ear gently. “She’s...well, she’s quite certain that what she’s doing is in your best interest. I’d be impressed by her loyalty if she didn’t sound like a raving lunatic.”

Chloe nods. Dan sounded crazy too. So did Cacuzza and Karpowski. Everyone has gone crazy, and she has no idea why.

Fear wraps around her throat and squeezes. “Lucifer, what’s happening?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well how do we stop it? How do we fix things? There has to be a way to make everything go back to normal, right?”

Lucifer looks agonized. “I don’t know, Detective.”

Helplessness washes over her. The gun feels suddenly heavy in her hand. Another sob catches in her throat. The wind blows hard, and she shivers and blinks against a fresh wave of tears. 

Lucifer shrugs out of his jacket and drapes it over her shoulders. He guides her arms through the sleeves gently, letting her switch the gun from one hand to the other without trying to take it from her. He seems to realize she needs it. He fusses with the jacket after it’s on, buttoning a few of the buttons and adjusting it around her. She leans closer to him. He’s warm. He’s always warm. 

“Detective,” he says gently. “What happened before I arrived?”

“Dan said...” she starts, but she has to stop and take a deep breath. “He said he’s going to sue for full custody of Trixie.”

Lucifer looks stunned. “What?” 

“I can’t lose her, Lucifer,” she whispers, shaking her head. “I can’t.”

“You won’t,” Lucifer soothes, lifting his hand to her face again. “I won’t allow it.”

“You can’t stop it,” she says, still fighting off a sob. “Look at everything that’s happened tonight. We don’t even know what we’re up against, let alone how to stop it, and Trixie is—”

The realization hits Chloe like a freight train. 

“Trixie,” she breathes. She staggers out of Lucifer’s arms and toward Dan, where she drops to her knees in the sand.

“Detective,” Lucifer calls. 

She can hear the concern in his voice but she ignores him. She pats her hands over Dan’s unconscious body until she finds his phone. She unlocks it without any trouble, and scans his screen for the tracer app.

“Detective,” Lucifer says, his voice more insistent. 

“Dan had Trixie tonight,” she tells him without looking up.

“So?”

“So Dan is here,” she replies, gesturing at her unconscious ex-husband. She finds the app she’s looking for and opens it. “Our sitter is out of town. So is my mom, and Maze is at your penthouse, and he wouldn’t call one of Trixie’s friends this late. There’s no one else to leave her with.” 

“You think he brought her with him?” Lucifer says incredulously. “But why?”

“Why would he do anything he just did?” Chloe counters, her thumb sliding over Dan’s phone screen. “The whole world’s gone fucking nuts.”

“Aptly put, Detective,” Lucifer says. She can hear the smile in his voice. He always smiles when she curses freely. “What are you doing?” he asks.

“We have these apps on our phones,” Chloe says, waiting for the location to load. “We can track her phone and—” 

The location data finally appears. 

“She’s here,” Chloe murmurs.

And then she jumps to her feet and bolts toward the nearest public parking lot in a flat-out sprint, her clutch and her shoes and her newly acquired gun forgotten back in the sand. She doesn’t even check to see if Lucifer is following her. 

When she gets to the parking lot, it isn’t hard to find Dan’s car. There’s only three in the lot. The concrete hurts her bare feet, but she doesn’t slow down. Not until she gets to the car and slams to a stop against the side, bending forward to peer into the backseat. 

Trixie looks up from her sketchpad, and their eyes meet through the window. Her face lights up. “Mom!” 

“Trixie,” Chloe breathes.

She yanks open the door and Trixie scrambles out of the backseat and throws herself into Chloe’s arms. Chloe sways a little from the impact, and then bends forward to hold her daughter tightly and breathe her in.

“I’m so glad to see you, Monkey,” she whispers into the top of Trixie’s head. “I love you so much. You know that, right? I love you so much.”

“I love you too,” Trixie murmurs, her voice muffled. “But you’re squeezing me really tight and it’s kind of hard to breathe.”

“Sorry,” Chloe laughs. She loosens her grip and straightens, and Trixie leans back to look up at her. Chloe brushes her hand over her daughter’s cheek. “Sorry, baby.”

Trixie frowns. “You’re crying.”

“I’m just happy to see you that’s all,” Chloe says, swiping the tears from her face. She hears the sound of shouting and laughter, and she glances toward the street to see a group of five college-aged guys walking down the sidewalk. 

“Are we getting ice cream now?” Trixie asks.

Chloe looks back at her daughter with a frown. “What?”

“Daddy said we would get ice cream when we found you.”

“He did?”

“Yeah. He said we were coming to get you, and then we’d all go out for ice cream like we used to.” And then she frowns. “Where’s Daddy?”

Chloe’s mind floats to Dan sprawled in the sand, unconscious and with blood on his bottom lip, and her heart aches. “He’s coming,” she lies. She swallows and wraps her hands around Trixie’s shoulders. “Listen, Monkey, there’s something we need to talk about, okay?”

Trixie nods. “Okay.”

“You remember when you told me that you were okay with Lucifer and I being boyfriend and girlfriend?”

Trixie’s entire body goes rigid, and the hatred that suddenly blossoms over her face is like nothing Chloe’s ever seen. 

“I changed my mind,” Trixie snaps. “I’m not okay with it. I hate it. I hate him.”

Chloe blinks at her, stunned. “What?”

“I want you to be with Dad. I want him to live with us and I want things to be like they were.” She shrugs out of Chloe’s grasp and folds her arms over her chest, and Chloe sees it in her eyes.

The flicker of silver and blue. 

“No,” she breathes. 

“Yes,” Trixie says petulantly. 

Chloe swallows around a lump in her throat. “Baby, listen to me—”

“No, _you_ listen,” Trixie cuts her off. “You said we don’t pretend with each other. You said I was the most important thing to you.”

“You are, Trix. Of course you are.”

“Then why can’t Daddy come home? Why can’t we be a family again?”

Chloe’s eyes feel warm. She used to have nightmares about Trixie having this reaction to the divorce. When it never happened, and Trixie adjusted fairly well, she was beyond relieved. Maybe that’s why it hurts so badly now. Because she thought she was safe from it.

“We _are_ a family,” she says. “We talked about this, remember? Your dad and I love each other very much. Just because we don’t live together anymore doesn’t mean we aren’t still a family.”

“We’re _not_ a family,” Trixie insists. “All you do is work and hang out with Lucifer and I never see you. We don’t go camping with Dad anymore, and we don’t get ice cream, and it’s all Lucifer’s fault. He ruined everything. You love him more than you love me.”

All the air rushes out of Chloe’s lungs. The hatred is just as clear in Trixie’s voice as it is in her eyes, and Chloe doesn’t think it’s all directed at Lucifer. 

For a second, that’s too much for her to bear. Maze was bad, and Dan was worse, but Chloe could handle them. It’s not like she hasn’t fallen out with them before. But Trixie? She can’t deal with her daughter succumbing to whatever this is. She can’t handle her bright, bubbly, kind-to-a-fault, ray of sunshine kid being eclipsed by whatever the fuck has turned the world upside down. 

She wants to sink down onto the concrete and curl into a ball and cry. She doesn’t know what’s going on. She doesn’t know how to fix it. She doesn’t even know if it _can_ be fixed. But she can’t do that. She won’t. Whatever—whoever—is responsible for this _wants_ her to fall apart. And there’s no way in hell she’s giving them the satisfaction.

“Trixie,” she says, putting her hands on either side of her daughter’s face. “Look at me.”

Trixie glares at a spot off to Chloe’s left.

“Now, Trix.”

Trixie lifts her eyes. Chloe remembers the first time she ever looked into these eyes. Dan wasn’t the only one who cried. 

“I love you,” she says. “More than anything and anyone, all the time, forever. As long as I’m breathing, there’s no one on this earth who loves you more than I do.”

Trixie’s expression softens a little. “You promise?”

“Yeah, Monkey,” Chloe says, stroking her thumb over her daughter’s cheek. “I promise.”

Trixie smiles. Chloe smiles too, her eyes warm with tears. She can’t see the flicker in Trixie’s eyes anymore, and she wants to be relieved, but she doesn’t think this is over. Not that easily. 

Her detective instincts kick into high gear. “Babe,” she says, combing her fingers through Trixie’s hair, “can you tell me what you did tonight?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean after I dropped you off at your dad’s, what did you do?”

Trixie frowns. “We ate dinner. Watched TV. And then I played my game with my friends while Dad watched basketball until he said I had to go to bed.”

“So your dad got you out of bed to come here?”

Trixie shakes her head. “No. I had a nightmare first.” And then fear shivers across her face, and she tilts a little closer to Chloe.

Chloe holds her tighter. “What’d you dream about?” 

“It was—”

She stops with a gasp, her eyes fixed on something behind Chloe, and the terror on her face chills Chloe to the bone.

“Trixie?” she says with a frown. “What is it? What—”

She spins around, wishing she hadn’t left that gun back in the sand, but all she sees is Lucifer. 

“Sorry, Detective, I didn’t mean to frighten you,” Lucifer says with a smile. Her high heels are dangling from his left hand. He glances down at Trixie. “Hello urchin. Past your bedtime, isn’t it?”

Trixie screams in response, loud and piercing and terrified. 

Chloe jumps in surprise. Lucifer frowns, clearly taken aback. Trixie flings herself into Chloe’s back, her arms wrapping around Chloe’s midsection.

“No,” she sobs, her face buried in the small of Chloe’s back as she hangs on tight. “No no _no._ ”

“Trixie,” Chloe says, trying to twist in her daughter’s arms so she can see her. “What are you—”

“Don’t let him get me,” Trixie begs. Chloe finally holds her in place long enough to turn and face her, and when Trixie tips her head back to meet Chloe’s gaze, her eyes are wide and filled with tears. “Please, Mommy, don’t let him get me.”

“Get you?” Chloe repeats. “What...baby, it’s Lucifer. You know him.”

“He’s the _Devil,_ ” Trixie wails, still clinging to Chloe. “He’s going to take you down to Hell and I’ll never see you again!”

Chloe looks up at Lucifer, at a complete loss for words. Lucifer looks heartbroken. He holds his hands up in the air in a non-threatening gesture and takes a step away from them. 

“Beatrice,” he says softly. “I would never take your mother from you. I would never hurt you. You’re safe. You have my word.”

“Liar!” Trixie screams, tears streaming down her face. “You’re a liar!”

Lucifer recoils as if her words have physically hurt him. 

“Trixie,” Chloe says, wrapping her hands around her daughter’s arms and bending forward. “Trixie, look at me.”

“Help!” Trixie shouts, her voice echoing through the parking lot. “Help, somebody! He’s trying to take my mom! He wants to hurt us!”

“Trixie,” Chloe hisses. “Stop it. Look at me—”

“What’s going on?” an unfamiliar voice asks. 

Chloe looks up and sees the group of college guys she saw earlier. At the front of the group is a guy who looks like a cross between Captain America and a Ken doll. There are Greek letters emblazoned over the gray t-shirt he’s wearing. 

“Is she okay?” he asks, casting a worried glance at Trixie.

“Yeah,” Chloe says, trying to muster a smile. “She’s fine. Everything is fine.”

“He’s the Devil!” Trixie shouts, pointing at Lucifer. “He hurts my mom and makes her cry, and he’s trying to take her away from me! You have to help us!”

The five guys turn in unison to look at Lucifer. 

Lucifer frowns. “I would never separate that child from her mother. I would never hurt either of them.” 

“Maybe you should back off,” Captain America suggests. “Go somewhere else and give the kid some space.”

Lucifer shakes his head. “I’m not going anywhere. If anything, _you_ should go. This doesn’t concern you.”

Captain America seems to take that as a challenge. “Oh I think it does,” he says, straightening to his full height. He curls his hands into fists. “Why don’t you pick on someone your own size?”

“I’m not _picking_ on anyone,” Lucifer says, clearly appalled. “And I suggest you uncurl those fists, you steroid-fueled cretin. No one here is frightened of you, least of all me.”

“I’m going to call the cops,” one of the guys in the back announces.

“Good idea,” Captain America says, his hands still in fists.

The guy in the back lifts his phone to his ear. 

“Wait,” Chloe says in the same instant Lucifer says, “Put that phone away,” and steps forward.

Captain America steps forward too, blocking Lucifer’s path. “Easy, bro. I don’t want to have to hurt you.”

Lucifer’s eyes flash. “As if you could. _Bro._ ”

Chloe holds out the hand that isn’t holding Trixie against her hip. “Guys, stop. Relax. You don’t need to call the cops, okay? _I’m_ a cop.”

They all turn to look at her. The guy in the back doesn’t lower his phone from his ear, but he looks interested

“You got a badge?” Captain America asks suspiciously.

“Yeah, of course. It’s…” Chloe trails off when she realizes she left her badge in her clutch and her clutch back on the beach. 

“It’s here, Detective,” Lucifer says. He pulls her clutch from his pants pocket and then produces her badge. He holds it up for everyone to see. “Take a good look, douche brigade.” 

One of the guys leans forward and squints. “Dude, I’m friends with a cop,” he says, nudging Captain America with his elbow. “That thing is totally fake.”

“I _beg_ your pardon,” Lucifer says, looking appalled again. “I’ll have you know she is the finest homicide detective in the LAPD, and I’m the finest civilian consultant in the history of time. Together we have the highest solve rate in the entire city.”

“Yeah,” Captain America says with a smirk. “Sure you do.” 

“Yeah, the parking lot right near there,” the guy on the phone is telling someone on the other end of the line. “This woman is with her boyfriend but her kid is really freaked out. Screaming and crying about how he’s the Devil. I think it might be a child abuse thing.”

Chloe straightens at the words. She can’t decide whether she’s offended or deeply hurt by the suggestion, but she doesn’t get the chance. 

“ _Child_ _abuse_?” Lucifer snarls. “How _dare_ you.”

He starts forward, his eyes flashing again, and Chloe lunges forward to stop him. “Lucifer, no,” she says, sliding between him and Captain America and putting her hands on his chest. “Stop it. Look at me. Stop it.”

Lucifer exhales sharply through his nose and looks down at her. “He said—”

“I heard what he said,” Chloe cuts him off. “But you’re not helping.” 

Lucifer looks like he wants to argue with her but, thankfully, he doesn’t.

Chloe turns to face Captain America. “Look, I appreciate you intervening, but everything is fine, okay? She’s fine.”

Trixie screams again, right on cue, and when Chloe turns to look at her, she’s just in time to see her daughter hurtling toward Lucifer with a red colored pencil held tightly in a fist above her head.

It happens too fast for Chloe to react. One second she’s blinking in surprise, trying to figure out why her daughter is yelling like she’s charging into battle, and the next thing she knows Trixie has buried the colored pencil in Lucifer’s thigh.

“Bloody hell!” Lucifer hisses, leaping backward. The pencil is sticking out of his thigh. He rips it out, sending a spatter of blood onto the concrete, and then glances up at Trixie with a look of utter betrayal. 

Trixie is undeterred. She lunges at him again, her hands curled into fists, and starts hitting him. “I hate you!” she screams. “You can’t take her! I won’t let you! I hate you!”

Lucifer doesn’t touch her. He holds his hands in the air above his shoulders and lets her wail on him, wincing a little as her fists connect with his body. If he looked heartbroken before, he looks devastated now. 

Chloe bends forward to catch her daughter around the middle and haul her away from him. “Trixie, baby, stop.”

“Go away and leave us alone!” Trixie shouts at Lucifer, flailing in Chloe’s arms. “I hate you! I _hate_ you!”

“Monkey,” Chloe says, struggling to keep a grip on her daughter. “Trixie, _stop_ it.”

And then, because things aren’t bad enough already, a cop car pulls into the parking lot with its lights on. 

“That was fast,” the guy on the phone says. 

Chloe and Lucifer share a look, because they both know there’s no way this cop car is here because of that 911 call. Chloe thinks of Dan, who tracked her here because he hacked into her cruiser, and her heart shoots into her throat. How many of her colleagues are out looking for her right now? And what are they going to do if they find her?

Trixie goes still in Chloe’s arms. “The police,” she breathes. “They’ll help us.”

She says it with all the confidence of a child whose parents are both cops, but Chloe doesn’t share her relief. She still remembers what happened at the penthouse, and she’s got one, maybe two minutes to get through to her daughter before whoever is in that cruiser gets over here. 

She sets Trixie’s feet down on the pavement and grabs her shoulders. “Monkey, look at me.”

Trixie looks at her, her eyes shining with hope. “They’re going to save us.”

“Trixie—”

Trixie wrenches out of her grasp and takes off, sprinting toward the cop car. 

“Trixie, _no,_ ” Chloe says, starting after her, but she’s stopped short by Captain America stepping into her path. 

“I think you should stay here,” he says. 

Chloe straightens and clenches her jaw. “Get out of my way.”

He shakes his head. “No.”

Chloe’s seriously considering kicking his ass when two uniformed officers she doesn’t know get out of the cruiser in the distance. Trixie immediately latches onto the hand of the one on the driver’s side, and points toward Chloe.

“Dude, you should go talk to them,” one of the guys says to Captain America. “Make sure they hear both sides of the story.”

Captain America gives Chloe an appraising look. “Yeah, you’re right. Keep an eye on them.” 

He heads for the cruiser. Chloe starts to follow him, but Lucifer catches her hand.

“We have to go, Detective.”

Chloe twists to look up at him. “What? No. I’m not leaving Trixie.”

“Do you remember what happened the last time we encountered your colleagues?”

“Yeah, but if I could just explain—”

“You can’t,” Lucifer cuts her off sharply. “Think of Maze and Daniel. Words are bloody useless. No one is listening to us. We need to make ourselves scarce until we figure out how to put things right.”

“I’m not walking away from my kid, Lucifer.”

Lucifer gestures at Trixie. “ _That_ is not your offspring, Detective. Just as it wasn’t Maze in the penthouse, or Daniel on the beach. You have to have realized that by now.”

He’s right. She _knows_ he’s right. And it’s not like Trixie won’t be safe. She’s with on-duty officers, and Dan isn’t far. He won’t be unconscious much longer. 

But how can she just walk away? That’s her _daughter._

In the distance, Captain America is talking to the pair of cops. They’re all staring at Chloe and Lucifer. Trixie is still holding the hand of one of them, and she’s tugging him toward her mother with all her might, but he isn’t budging.

“Mom,” Trixie calls. She motions for Chloe. “Mom, come here!”

“Detective,” Lucifer murmurs.

“I can’t,” Chloe says. Her throat feels like it’s closing up. “I can’t leave her, Lucifer. That’s what she’s afraid of.”

Lucifer exhales a heavy breath. “Very well.” He squeezes her hand. “I won’t rest until I figure out what is happening and fix it. I’ll return Beatrice and Daniel and everyone else to their right minds. You have my word.”

He leans forward and brushes a kiss over her temple. And then he starts to turn away from her, and his hand starts to slip away from hers, and it hits Chloe what’s about to happen—Lucifer is going to leave her, and she has no idea if or when he’ll come back, and she’ll be alone in the middle of this waking nightmare with people who look like her loved ones but aren’t.

“Wait,” she blurts out, clutching his hand.

He turns to look at her. Chloe gazes up at him. There’s no flicker in his eyes. They’re the same dark brown they’ve always been, and he’s the same man she’s always known. The one who never lies to her, the one she trusts with her heart and soul, the one who killed his brother and went to Hell and back—twice—to keep her alive so she could be with her daughter. 

She glances at Trixie. Every fiber of her being wants to stay. But that’s not what’s best for her daughter, is it? Whatever is making everyone act this way is extremely dangerous. Dan pulled a gun on her. Nixon tried to assault her. Right now everyone seems to be intent on getting her away from Lucifer, but how does she know that won’t change? What if she stays, and then people start to turn on her like they’re turning on Lucifer? What if Trixie gets hurt because Chloe was too selfish to give her kid what she needs, even if it breaks her heart?

“You’re right,” she whispers, looking back at Lucifer. “We have to figure out what’s happening. And we’re better together than apart.”

He searches her gaze. “Are you sure?”

Chloe’s vision blurs with tears. “It’s only temporary, right?” 

He nods. “Yes.”

“Then yeah. I’m sure.”

She feels cold metal press against her palm. She doesn’t have to look to know that he’s giving her Dan’s keys. “You drive.”

Normally, she’d make a joke about how she can’t believe he isn’t trying to convince her to let him drive. She doesn’t this time. She just nods and heads for the driver’s side door while he strides around the front hood toward the passenger side. 

“Mommy!” Trixie screams. 

Chloe glances over her shoulder. She can’t help it. Trixie lets go of the cop’s hand and tries to dash in Chloe’s direction, but Captain America scoops her up before she can. Trixie flails desperately in his arms. 

“Mommy, no!” she wails. “Don’t go with him! _Please!_ ”

Chloe has never wanted anything more than she wants to sprint across the parking lot and wrap her arms around her kid and promise she’ll never leave. 

But she can’t.

“Mommy!” Trixie sobs. Her cheeks are streaked with tears, and her hands are stretched out toward Chloe. “ _Don’t leave me!_ ”

Chloe feels like someone has ripped her heart out of her chest and is grinding it beneath their heel. 

“Detective,” Lucifer calls gently. 

Chloe takes one last look at her daughter, and then gets in the car. 


	11. Eleven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all have been saying such nice things in my comments, and I really appreciate it. Truly. I so badly want to write out responses (some of y'all are *really* good at picking up on the details I work so hard on), but life is not being kind with spare time at the moment. Someday, maybe. 
> 
> In the meantime, I'll answer a common question: I will be posting a new chapter of this fic every single Tuesday until the story is done, or unless I warn you ahead of time that I need a week off. I can't give you a specific number of chapters yet (revisions are a bitch), but we've got a ways to go still. Thanks for sticking with me :)

Chloe cries while she drives.

The cops from the beach don’t follow her. She drives like she’s trying to lose a tail anyway, just in case. When she’s certain she’s not being followed, she gets on the 405, flips on the lights in Dan’s cruiser so everyone will get the hell out of her way, and drives like the Devil himself is chasing her.

Except he’s not. He’s sitting in the passenger seat, watching her with a look of heartbroken concern. 

She doesn’t look at him. She can’t. If she takes her eyes off the road, and if she lets herself think about what she just did and why she did it, she’s going to lose her shit. So she just keeps staring straight ahead, blinking hard every time the tail lights in front of her get too blurry, and wiping the sleeve of Lucifer’s suit jacket over her face every time her cheeks start to feel too wet. 

She should probably ask Lucifer where he thinks they should go. But she doesn’t. She just drives on autopilot until she finds herself steering the car into a metered parking spot on Fairfax Avenue across from The Original Farmer’s Market. 

She shifts the car into park, and then turns Dan’s keys in the ignition. The engine cuts out, and then there’s nothing but silence. She can feel Lucifer’s eyes on her. She doesn’t meet his gaze. She looks out her window at the familiar landmark across the street instead. Silence hangs over them.

“There’s an ice cream stall in there,” she says eventually. 

“In the market?” 

She nods. “Bennett’s. My dad used to take me there after auditions. He always got rum raisin, which I thought was gross. And I always got Fancy Nancy, which he thought was gross.”

A memory surfaces. Her dad, smiling proudly at her over an ice cream cone when she told him she’d landed the part in _Hot Tub High School._ Chloe swallows around the sudden tightness in her throat. 

“Fancy Nancy?” Lucifer asks softly. 

“Coffee ice cream,” she answers, watching the palm trees across the street blow in the wind. “Caramel swirl and bananas. It’s the best. Trixie loves it.” 

Chloe’s eyes start to feel warm, and she looks down at her hands. She can’t stop thinking about the look on Trixie’s tear stained face as she left. The way her arms were stretched out. The desperation in her voice. _Don’t leave me!_

Chloe takes a deep, shuddering breath. She can’t decide which emotion she’s drowning in—guilt or grief. She hates them both. She feels like she can’t breathe. 

“She’ll forgive me for leaving her,” she whispers, her voice wavering. “Right?”

“Yes,” Lucifer replies without hesitation. “I have no doubt.”

It’s a nice thing to say. But Chloe has enough doubt for the both of them. 

Lucifer reaches across the center console and sets his hand on her knee. “Look at me, love.”

There it is again. _Love._ Why can’t he call her that when they’re not in the middle of a waking nightmare?

She looks up at him, and he smiles softly at her. “You’ll eat ice cream with her again soon. You have my word.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Lucifer.”

“I’m not.”

There’s steel in his voice, but softness in his gaze. She wants to bury her face in his chest and cry. But Trixie doesn’t need her mom to fall apart in a parked car right now. She needs her to figure out how to fix this so they can go back to living their lives. 

Chloe sniffs and wipes her eyes and then straightens in her seat. “So what now?”

“Detective,” Lucifer says gently. “If you need—”

“I need my kid back,” she cuts him off. “We need our lives back. Crying in the car isn’t going to fix anything, and I want to fix things. So let’s just...let’s just do something. Okay?”

Lucifer studies her for a moment, and then nods. “Very well.” 

Chloe sniffs again and then takes a deep breath. “I think we should treat it like a case.” 

Lucifer lifts his eyebrows. “A case?”

“Yeah. I mean, it’s a mystery, right?”

He nods. “Indeed.” And then he smiles. “Lucky for us, no one is better at solving mysteries than you.”

Chloe frowns. “Me?”

Lucifer frowns too. “Surely you’re not questioning your abilities?”

“No,” she replies, shaking her head. “Just surprised you’re not touting yours.”

He blinks at her for a second, and then he smiles again. “I’ll have you know I’ve been working on my modesty as of late.”

Even with everything that’s going on, the impulse to tease him throbs in Chloe’s chest. She follows it.

“Oh I’ve noticed,” she says. “You’re the epitome of humility these days.”

He looks surprised at her response, but then amusement tugs on his lips. “Well you don’t have to sneer when you say it, Detective.”

“Can I laugh?”

“You most certainly cannot.”

“I’ll just settle for a smirk then.”

Mischief flickers in his eyes. “I find your smirks very sexy, you know. Particularly when they’re accompanied by snark.”

“You’re saying the King of Hell likes it when his girlfriend gives him attitude.”

His smile widens. “Oh, very much.” 

They smile at each other across the center console. Chloe feels the knot of tension in her chest loosen a bit. Her life is a mess. Everyone she loves is acting insane, and she has no idea how to fix it. But she’s still got her partner, and they’re going to figure this out. They always do. 

“All right,” she says. “So if this was a case, we’d start by reviewing what we know.”

“Yes,” Lucifer agrees. “What do we know?”

Chloe sighs. “Something or someone has brainwashed everyone we know into thinking we need to break up.” 

“Are we certain that it’s them?”

Chloe frowns. “What do you mean?”

“What if it’s us?” he explains. “What if we’re just imagining it all?”

“What, like, we’re having the same dream?”

“I was thinking of a shared hallucination.” 

“Is that even possible?”

“Oh yes.” He smiles the way he does when he’s remembering something. “After I first arrived in Los Angeles, Mazikeen and I flew out with some friends to the Utah desert for a weeklong vacation at Amangiri. We ran into Jennifer and—”

“Jennifer?” Chloe interrupts. And then she frowns. “Like, Jennifer Aniston?”

“Lopez, darling,” Lucifer clarifies. 

Chloe frowns. Is he about to tell her he’s slept with JLo? 

“She’d never tried peyote,” Lucifer continues, oblivious to her thoughts. “So of course I introduced her, and my _goodness_ did we have some fun. On the second night we...” 

He trails off when he glances at Chloe and sees what she’s sure is not an encouraging look on her face. 

“Right,” he says, shifting in his seat. “Not the proper time to share that recollection.”

Chloe swallows the urge to tell him that there’s never going to be a proper time to share all the details about his drug-fueled sexcapades with Jennifer Lopez. 

“The point is shared hallucinations are possible,” he says. 

“I don’t think we’re hallucinating,” Chloe says. She’s still trying to shake the mental image of him and JLo in bed together. “I think everyone else is. That’s why their eyes keep flickering.”

“You mentioned that earlier,” Lucifer says, turning to look at her. “What, exactly, did you see?”

“It’s like...I mean, it’s a flicker. One second their eyes are normal, and then they flicker blue and silver, and then they’re back to normal again. It’s fast. If you blink, you’ll miss it.” She frowns. “Didn’t you see it when you were interrogating Maze?”

“I did, yes,” he confirms. “But I sometimes see things differently than you. So I was curious as to whether we were seeing the same thing.”

“Are we?”

“Yes.”

She waits for him to elaborate, but he doesn’t. “So what is it?”

“I haven’t the slightest idea.”

Chloe looks down at her hands. Her eyes catch on her fourth finger where she used to wear Dan’s ring. “It wasn’t just Maze,” she says. “Dan’s eyes did it too. And Trixie’s. I didn’t get a good look at Cacuzza or any of the rest, but I bet theirs were too.”

“Seems like a fair assumption.” 

She looks up at him. “And you don’t think it’s celestial? I mean, isn’t the timing a little too coincidental?”

Lucifer frowns. “I’m not sure I follow.”

“Well your dad is gone, right? When the cat’s away, the mice will play. So what if Michael is, you know, making his move? He said he had an epic plan. Maybe this is it.”

“I’m not willing to rule that out,” Lucifer muses, fiddling with his cufflink. “But Michael doesn’t have this kind of power. Whatever this is, it’s not in his bag of tricks.”

“Are you sure? I mean, he brings out fears, right? And this is...”

She doesn’t finish. Lucifer meets her gaze. Guilt and regret are written plainly on his face. “Your worst fear,” he says softly.

She shakes her head. “No. Not the worst. It’d only be the worst if you hated me too.”

His expression softens. “They don’t hate you, Detective. Quite the contrary. They seem rather intent on saving you.” He drops his gaze. “From me.”

Chloe sets her hand on his arm. “I don’t need to be saved.”

“Yes, you’re quite capable of taking care of yourself,” he murmurs without looking at her. “That was on clear display back at the penthouse.”

“That’s not what I meant. I meant I don’t need to be saved from _you._ ” 

He glances up at her, and she sees a faint gleam of hope in his eyes. She leans toward him.

“It’s all lies, Lucifer,” she murmurs. “All of it, every word they’re saying, none of it is real. I know what the truth is. It’s you. You’re real. _We’re_ real.”

“How can you be sure?” he whispers.

She smiles. “Because I know you. And you’re not the only one who’s got faith.”

He stares at her for a moment, stunned. And then his expression dissolves into relief, and she can’t help it—she leans forward, and pulls his face toward hers, and kisses him. She pulls back after a moment, and then presses her forehead to his and strokes her thumb over his stubble. 

“I love you,” she whispers. “No take-backsies.”

He chuckles softly. She smiles, and kisses him again, and then leans back onto her side of the car. He keeps staring at her, his eyebrows furrowed a little, and she knows he’s thinking about that conversation in the evidence room that they never got to finish.

“Okay,” she says, because she doesn’t want him to feel pressured. “Back to the mystery. It could be celestial, but we don’t know. So how do we find out?”

“Well,” Lucifer sighs, “fortunately for us, I happen to know Heaven’s nerdiest angel.” 

Chloe frowns. 

“Amenadiel,” Lucifer answers her unspoken question. “He spent his youth studying like a dullard. I’m sure if anyone can tell us whether our current issue is celestial, and if so how to fix it, he can.”

“But what if he’s been infected too?”

Lucifer smiles. “Is that what we’re calling them? The infected? As if they’re shambling corpses in a cheesy zombie flick?”

“Well what else do you want me to call them?” Chloe asks. “The flickers?”

Lucifer’s smile turns wicked. “Sounds inappropriate.”

“How is—you know what, don’t answer that.” 

Movement catches Chloe’s attention from the corner of her eye, and she glances out the window at a couple jaywalking across the street in the direction of the market. They’re wrapped around each other, their heads bent together as they walk. 

“I could show you rather than answer,” Lucifer offers. His voice is a purr.

“Maybe later,” Chloe says without taking her eyes off the couple. On any other night, that could be her and Lucifer. Envy flickers in her chest. She waits until they’re on the sidewalk, and then glances at Lucifer. He’s giving her an odd look. 

“What?” she asks, suddenly self-conscious. 

Lucifer shakes his head. “Nothing. I’m occasionally caught off guard by how things have changed is all.”

“Changed?” Chloe says with a frown.

“You respond differently to innuendos now,” Lucifer clarifies. “Before, you would have just said no and rolled your eyes.”

“Yeah, well, we weren’t sleeping together before.”

He tilts his head. “I never quite understood that phrase. If you do it right, there should hardly be any sleeping at all.” He grins. “You can attest to that.”

Yeah, she can definitely attest to that. But that doesn’t mean she needs to _say_ it. “Not everyone is as skilled as you are, Lucifer,” she points out.

He looks thrilled. “You think I’m skilled?”

“I didn’t…” She trails off because yes, she did say that. “Can we focus on the task at hand, please?”

He leans toward her. “I would very much like to focus on a task for my hands, and judging by your reaction on the piano earlier this evening, you—”

“Lucifer,” she warns.

He smiles. “My apologies, darling.” He leans back to his side of the car. “We were discussing how we need to speak with Amenadiel.”

“Do you think he’s infected?”

“It’s hard to say. The only people we’ve encountered thus far are those who are firmly in your camp.”

Chloe turns to look at him with a frown. “My camp?”

“Yes. Say, for instance, that we were to get divorced. We would need to split assets. If you think of the people in our lives as assets—”

“Wait,” Chloe says, holding up her hand. “Divorced? So we’re married now?”

He waves his hand. “It’s an analogy, Detective. You would, in the case of such a split, be chosen by all the people who rushed to your defense tonight. Daniel and your spawn, obviously. Your colleagues.”

“But Maze?” Chloe says. “She’s your best friend, Lucifer.”

Lucifer frowns. “I don’t know that I’d call her that. And if she is, she’s a terrible one. Repeated betrayals notwithstanding—”

“Okay, hold up,” Chloe cuts him off. “I’m not disagreeing with you that the betrayals suck. And I lived with her, so I know she doesn’t always make the best choices.”

Lucifer snorts in agreement.

“But have you ever thought that maybe she betrays you all the time because you guys _really_ suck at communicating with each other?”

Lucifer lifts his eyebrows. “I take great pride in my sucking abilities, Detective. Communication does not fall under that category.”

Chloe rolls her eyes. 

“There it is,” Lucifer says happily. 

Chloe presses her lips together to hide a smile. He really wasn’t kidding about liking her attitude. “Focus, Lucifer.”

“Right,” he says. “I acknowledge that Mazikeen was originally in my camp, so to speak. But it is my belief that her allegiance lies elsewhere now. Namely with the Doctor and her offspring, and you and yours. So yes, I believe that if the courts forced her to decide between us, she would choose you.”

Chloe arches an eyebrow. “You are really clinging to this divorce analogy.”

“It’s fitting,” he says with a shrug. And then he frowns. “Does it bother you to pretend to be married to me?”

Chloe blinks. “Does it bother _you?_ ”

“Well we’re getting divorced.”

“So it doesn’t bother you to pretend to be married to me as long as we get a pretend divorce?”

Lucifer looks like a deer in headlights. “Well I don’t...that is, if we were to…”

He doesn’t finish. They stare at each other for a long moment, tension thick in the air, until they both look away. 

Lucifer clears his throat. “In keeping with the analogy, I believe that Amenadiel would choose me.”

Chloe nods and swallows. “Yeah, seems right.”

“And the Doctor, of course.”

“Yeah, I—wait, you think you’d get Linda?”

Lucifer frowns. “Well you can’t possibly think she’d choose _you._ ”

Chloe tries not to be offended by the tone of his voice and fails. “Linda and I are pretty good friends, Lucifer.”

“Yes, but I’m her favorite client.”

“Yeah, _client,_ ” Chloe says. “It’s a professional relationship. That’s not the same.”

“We used to be far more than professional, Detective.”

Chloe frowns. “Yeah, I’m aware.”

Lucifer doesn’t seem to notice her discomfort at the reminder that he and Linda used to sleep together. “She has also called me her friend on more than one occasion. In front of other people, too.”

Chloe opens her mouth to argue with him, but thinks better of it at the last second. If this was an actual divorce, she’d clearly be the winner. All of the people in their lives—even his oldest friend—are on her side. It won’t kill her to let him have Linda.

“Okay,” she says. “You’re right. Linda is probably yours.” 

He looks pleased. “Thank you. And since both my brother and the Doctor are in my corner, so to speak, we should be able to visit them in their home without causing a scene.”

Chloe nods. “All right. Let’s head over there then.” She reaches for the keys in the ignition to start the car, but Lucifer puts his hand on her arm to stop her.

“Not quite yet, Detective. I wish to test a theory first.”

“What theory?”

“I want to see if strangers react to us.”

Chloe frowns. “React?”

“Yes. If my theory is correct, and the only people who will try to forcibly separate us are those who would choose you, then we shouldn’t inspire any negative reactions in complete strangers.” 

“But what if we do?”

Lucifer looks grave. “Then we’re dealing with something on a much grander scale. Something far more dangerous.”

The words are ominous, and they hang in the air like a lingering fog. Chloe’s mind runs through a hundred awful what-if scenarios before she shakes them away and forces herself to focus. 

“There’s a CVS down the street,” she says. “I think it’s open twenty-four hours. We could go in and buy some stuff, see if anyone gets pissed about us being together?”

“Lovely idea,” Lucifer says with a nod. 

Chloe starts the car. She checks for oncoming traffic, and then pulls out and heads for the CVS. 

It only takes them two minutes to get there. It isn’t until she pulls into the parking lot, parks, and turns off the car that she remembers she doesn’t have shoes on. 

“Shoot,” she says. “Do you—” She stops when she turns toward Lucifer, and finds him holding her high heels out for her. She smiles. “Thanks.”

She takes the shoes and bends forward to slip them on. She’s fastening the last strap around her ankle when she glances at the floor, and spots a brown colored pencil that must have rolled under the seat while she was driving. 

Her hands go still on the straps of her shoe. A painful lump wells up in her throat. For a second, she’s right back in that parking lot by the beach, listening to Trixie scream for her. It feels like there’s something sharp in her chest, twisting and cutting and ripping her open every time she tries to breathe. 

She left her kid. 

What kind of mother leaves her kid?

“Detective?” Lucifer calls. 

Chloe sucks in a breath and wills her tears to stay in her eyes. She reaches for the pencil, and then straightens with it still in her hand. She glances up at Lucifer in time to see his eyes flick down and notice what she’s holding. 

His body goes rigid. Pain flares in his eyes, but disappears quickly. He reaches out and covers her hand with his. 

“We’ll get her back,” he murmurs. “You know as well as I that she loves you unconditionally. There isn’t a child on this planet who loves her mother more than your offspring loves you, Detective. You’re doing what’s best for her. She won’t hold that against you.” 

Chloe swallows the argument sitting on her tongue and glances at his leg where Trixie stabbed him. “Does it hurt where she…?”

“It’s fine,” he says dismissively. “No permanent damage.”

Chloe isn’t sure that’s true. She thinks about how devastated he looked when Trixie went after him, and how hard he’s trying now to focus on assuaging her pain instead of acknowledging his, and that sharp feeling in her chest returns. 

“She didn’t mean it, Lucifer,” she murmurs. “She loves you.”

Lucifer looks out the windshield. He doesn’t say anything for a long time, and Chloe doesn’t try to fill the silence. 

“Not everything Daniel said on that beach was true,” he says eventually. “But there are some things that I know he may believe.”

“Like?”

“Like how I’ve hurt you. I know I have. And Mazikeen said some things as well that I’m not entirely sure are falsehoods.”

“Lucifer—”

“I think,” he cuts her off. She stops talking. He clears his throat. “I think your child may have shared some things that she is genuinely afraid of. Like, for instance, that I might take you away from her.”

Chloe chews her lip. She doesn’t know how to respond to that because she has no idea if it’s true. Maybe Trixie is afraid that Lucifer will take her away. But Trixie is also afraid that a bullet or a knife or a bomb or a host of other things will take her mom away, and none of that changes the fact that the underlying force of whatever is happening is built on a lie about who Lucifer is. 

“Trixie isn’t just worried about losing me,” Chloe says into the silence. “She’s worried about losing you too.”

Lucifer looks pained. “Detective, I realize that you’re trying to make me feel better—”

“She asked your dad about it.”

Lucifer turns to look at her in surprise. “What?”

“At his retirement party,” Chloe clarifies. “She asked him if he grants favors the way you do. And when he asked her what she wanted, she said she wanted you to stay with us forever.”

Lucifer opens his mouth, but nothing comes out.

“You were in the room when I told her about us, Lucifer,” Chloe reminds him. “You saw how thrilled she was. She’s loved you since the moment she met you. And I think, deep down, you know that.”

Lucifer swallows. “She really said that to Dad?” 

Chloe nods. “Yeah.” And then she smiles. “She also asked him to put giraffes on Mars, so I think when all this is over, we should probably talk to her about how she shouldn’t take advantage of her celestial connections for her own benefit.”

Lucifer blinks at her, and then a smile spreads over his lips. “If you insist.”

Chloe studies him, looking for an indication that he needs more reassurance, but finds none. She lifts his hand to her mouth anyway, and presses a kiss to his knuckles.

“Come on,” she murmurs. “Let’s test your theory.”

She gets out of the car. He follows suit. She walks around the back of the car and joins him, and as they head toward the entrance of the store, he drapes his arm over her shoulders. He’s never done that before. Chloe glances up at him in surprise, expecting him to second guess himself and pull away. When he doesn’t, she smiles and leans into him, wrapping her arm around his waist. 

When the red doors slide open, though, and they step into the store, the smile fades from her lips. A few yards in front of them, a CVS employee is stacking packages of Brawny paper towels on top of each other beneath a sign that says _Sale!_

“Welcome to CVS,” he says in a bored voice. He glances over his shoulder at them, and then immediately freezes.

Chloe’s steps falter. Lucifer tenses next to her, obviously thinking the same thing she is—their theory is wrong, and they’re about to get in a fight with a store clerk who’s barely eighteen and hasn’t grown into his arms and legs yet. 

Chloe watches the clerk’s eyes, waiting to see the flicker, but it never comes. The only thing his eyes do is travel over her legs and linger on the v-shaped opening of Lucifer’s suit jacket that reveals the low cut front of her dress. 

“Uh,” he says when their eyes meet. 

Chloe smiles. “Hi,” she says, lifting her voice a little so it sounds like a question. 

The clerk’s face goes crimson. “H—hey, uh, hi.” 

Chloe presses her lips together around a smile. This kid is definitely reacting to her, but not in the way they were afraid of.

“Bloody hell,” Lucifer says. “Take a picture, would you? It’ll last longer and you can use it later when you finally get a moment alone with your hand.”

“Lucifer,” Chloe admonishes. 

Lucifer ignores her. “You’ve got a little drool right there,” Lucifer says to the clerk, gesturing at his chin. 

The clerk paws at his chin, his eyes wide. 

Lucifer snorts and looks down at Chloe. “He believed me.”

Chloe rolls her eyes and tugs him toward the snack aisle. He follows her with a snicker. 

“You’re a jerk,” she tells him when they’re out of earshot of the clerk.

Lucifer tightens his arm around her shoulders so that the side of her body presses harder into his. “He deserved it.”

“Women look at you like that all the time and you don’t see me acting like that.”

“Well I wouldn’t mind if you did. A possessive Detective is a sexy Detective. Oooh!” He drops his arm from around her shoulders and reaches for a bag of cool ranch puffs. “Jumbo size,” he says, reading the package. He looks up at Chloe with a glint in his eye. “How fortunate. I, too, am jumbo sized. As you’re well aware.”

“You’re unbelievable,” Chloe tells him. 

He grins, and then rips open the bag and shoves his hand inside. 

“Seriously?” she hisses at him. She glances around, but no one is in sight. 

“What?” Lucifer says around a mouthful of puffs. “It’s not like I won’t _pay_ for them.”

Chloe sighs but doesn’t bother to chastise him further because there’s no point. He’s just going to keep eating. 

“You need a snack,” he says in between fistfuls of cool ranch puffs. “Pick whatever your heart desires. My treat. Although you really should be treating me, given your trust fund.” 

Chloe rolls her eyes. She is hungry, though, so she wanders down the aisle, scanning the various boxes and bags in search of her favorite crackers. She stops dead in her tracks when she sees a shelf full of Goldfish crackers. 

Trixie loves Goldfish. 

A memory surfaces. Six-year-old Trixie in a bright pink swimsuit, sitting cross-legged on a towel in the sand. 

“Mommy?” Trixie says thoughtfully as she digs her hand into a ziploc bag full of Goldfish.

“Yeah, Monkey?” Chloe says as she looks up from her book.

Trixie smiles. “This is my favorite.”

“What is? Goldfish crackers?”

“No, Mommy,” Trixie says, rolling her eyes. “Being at the beach with you.”

Chloe remembers that the words made her feel warm all over. She doesn’t feel warm now, though. She just feels cold and empty and rubbed raw with guilt. 

“Looking for something in particular?” Lucifer wonders. 

The sound of his voice snaps Chloe out of her memory. For a second, she can’t remember how to breathe. She closes her eyes and sucks in a breath, and then exhales it slowly. 

“Detective?” Lucifer asks, worry creeping into his voice.

“Yeah,” she says. She refocuses on the shelves before her. “I was looking for…” She finally spots what she was searching for. “Ah. These.” She grabs a box of Club crackers off the shelf. 

“You must be joking.”

Chloe turns to look at him with a frown. “What? Why?”

“ _That’s_ your snack of choice?” Lucifer says, gesturing at the green box in her hand with fingers that are covered in cool ranch dust. “Old lady crackers?”

“They’re not old lady crackers.”

“They most certainly are. I think they serve those in nursing homes along with daily pill doses.”

Chloe rolls her eyes. 

“Would you like some prune juice to wash them down?” Lucifer asks, his eyes twinkling. “Perhaps a tube of BENGAY for the ache in your back?”

“Haha, very funny,” Chloe says, turning away from him and walking down the aisle. “That’s rich coming from the guy who is literally older than dirt.”

“Don’t look like it though, do I?” he says, preening. 

Chloe decides not to dignify his arrogance with a response. She gets to the end of the aisle and glances down the center lane of the store, looking for more people they can test their theory on. Lucifer follows her, crunching loudly on his puffs. Eventually, she finds a woman in the aisle stocked with cold medicine. 

Chloe stops at the end of the aisle and turns toward Lucifer. “Give me those,” she says, snatching the bag from his hand. 

“Hey,” he says. “Snatching is rude.”

Chloe glances down the aisle at the woman, who is now walking toward them, and then back at Lucifer. “Kiss me.”

Lucifer frowns. “Here? Now?”

Chloe lifts her eyebrows. “What happened to always ready and willing?”

Lucifer straightens as if she’s just issued him a challenge, wipes his hands on his pants, and then grabs her face in his hands and kisses her. 

He smells like cool ranch puffs. Which, honestly, aren’t her favorite. But it’s hard to complain when he’s kissing her like this, and for a second, she forgets why she even asked him to do it. She’s got her crackers in one hand and his cool ranch puffs in the other so she can’t touch him, but she leans into his chest and opens her mouth for him. He doesn’t need a second invitation. He makes a low, pleased sound in the back of his throat and buries a hand in her hair as he strokes his tongue into her mouth.

“God, get a room,” a voice mutters nearby. 

Chloe suddenly remembers that they’re making out in the middle of a CVS, and then she remembers why. She leans back from Lucifer just in time to see the woman walk past them with an eye roll, but nothing else. No speech about Lucifer being the Devil, no threats, no violence. She doesn’t even look over her shoulder at them. 

“She didn’t care,” Chloe whispers. 

Lucifer frowns. “What?”

“About us,” Chloe clarifies. “She didn’t care that we were together.” She looks up at him. “Your theory must be right. People who don’t know us aren’t infected.”

Lucifer studies her for a moment, his eyebrows furrowed, and then he grabs her by the wrist and yanks her toward the end of the aisle. 

“What are you doing?” she asks, tripping along behind him.

“One last test,” he mutters, his head on a swivel. “Just need to find...ah, here we are.” 

He tugs her forward until they come to a stop behind a guy with a Dodgers hat sitting backwards on his head. 

“Excuse me,” Lucifer says. 

The guy in the hat turns around slowly. He glances at Chloe, checks her out quickly, and then looks back at Lucifer with his eyebrows furrowed. “Can I help you?”

“Yes, actually,” Lucifer says brightly. “Are you gay?”

“Lucifer,” Chloe hisses.

The guy in the hat blinks. “Uh. What?”

“Gay,” Lucifer repeats. “Do you enjoy having sex with men?”

“No,” the guy says. “What the hell kind of question is that?”

“So you would sleep with her?” Lucifer asks, gesturing at Chloe. “Provided she consented, of course.”

“I’m going to kill you,” Chloe tells him.

The guy looks down at Lucifer’s hand around Chloe’s wrist and frowns. “Isn’t she like...your girlfriend?”

“Why yes she is,” Lucifer says, puffing out his chest in pride. He drapes his arm around Chloe and pulls her flush against his side. “What do you think of us? Do you think we’re cute together?”

“Dude, I don’t even _know_ you.”

“Minor detail,” Lucifer says, waving his hand dismissively. “Based on what you see, what do you think? Do we make a nice pair?”

“Uh...sure?”

“So you don’t have a sudden and inexplicable desire to _rescue_ her?”

“Am I supposed to?” the guy says incredulously. And then his expression goes slack in horror. “Wait, are you guys swingers? Are you hitting on me?”

“No,” Chloe says, feeling her face flush. 

“Oh, look at you trolling for partners in your local convenience store,” Lucifer says with a grin. “No shame. I like it.”

The guy’s face turns crimson. “I’m not hitting on you. _You’re_ hitting on _me._ ”

“I most certainly am not,” Lucifer says. “I’m in a committed relationship, thank you very much. Speaking of, if I told you that we plan on spending the rest of forever together, would you support that decision?”

“Wait, what?” Chloe says, looking up at Lucifer.

Lucifer ignores her. “Answer the question,” he says, waving impatiently at the guy in the hat. “We don’t have all night.”

“Yeah, sure bro,” the guy says. “You do you.”

Lucifer grins. “Well, actually, she does me these days. And quite well, I might add. She does this thing where she—”

“Okay,” Chloe cuts him off before he can embarrass her even more. “That’s enough.” She smiles apologetically at the guy in the hat. “So sorry to bother you. We’re leaving.”

She shoves Lucifer toward the front of the store. 

“Detective,” he huffs at her. “There’s no need to _push._ And we can’t leave yet. I’d like to get some gummy bears before we go, and I believe they’re located in _that_ direction.”

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Chloe hisses, shoving him again. “You can’t just walk up to people and say stuff like that.”

“Well I _had_ to,” he says, turning to face her. “Every man we’ve encountered tonight has looked at you like he can’t wait to bend you over—”

“Lucifer!”

“—and I needed to be sure that it was _you_ and not the infection.”

“Me?” Chloe says incredulously. “What did I do?”

“Well you put on that dress, for starters.” 

Chloe casts an exasperated look at the ceiling and sighs. This is what she gets for wishing things were normal. She gets Lucifer being peak Lucifer. 

“Can we agree that the theory checks out so far?” she asks.

He smiles. “Why of course, darling.”

“Great. Then let’s go.”

She brushes past him toward the exit, but Lucifer grabs her elbow and yanks her back. “Nope,” he says, dragging her toward the candy aisle. “Not until I get my gummies.” 

Chloe casts another look at the ceiling. “Why am I dating a middle school boy?” 

Lucifer grins at her over his shoulder. “Because you love me.” And then he winks. “No take-backsies.”

Chloe can’t help it. 

She laughs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the record, I also love Club crackers and Lucifer can pry them out of my cold dead hands.


	12. Twelve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Much love to y'all who keep leaving me love in my comments. I appreciate it more than you know :)

Linda looks shocked when she opens the door and finds Chloe and Lucifer on the other side. 

“Lucifer,” Linda says in surprise. She glances at Chloe, double takes at her outfit, and then says, “Chloe?”

“Hey Linda,” Chloe greets.

Linda pulls her bathrobe tighter around her body. “Is everything all right?” 

Lucifer steps into Linda’s space, bends forward, and squints at her instead of answering. Linda leans back, but Lucifer follows her and bends even farther forward. There’s an intense look of concentration on his face, but it’s hard for Chloe to take him seriously because two minutes ago he was explaining to her how betrayed he felt when he realized that green gummy bears are strawberry flavored.

Linda lifts her eyebrows. “What’s happening right now?”

“Just looking for flickers,” Lucifer mutters.

Linda casts a glance at Chloe out of the corner of her eye. “Is he high?”

“On gummy bears,” Chloe replies.

Linda frowns. “Are _you_ high?” 

Chloe snorts. “I wish.”

Lucifer whips around to face her. “Why Detective,” he purrs, a wicked grin smoothing over his lips. “I had no idea you were interested in drugs. We should get high together and see how much of the Kama Sutra we can get through.”

Chloe gives him a look. “Can you focus?”

“Right,” he says. “We’ll talk about that later.” He turns back to Linda, squints at her again, and then shakes his head. “No flickers. My theory must be correct.”

Chloe thinks of Dan, and how she briefly thought he was safe when she didn’t see the flicker right away. “It doesn’t always show up right away.”

Lucifer hums and then gives Linda an appraising look. “Well, the doctor is small,” he decides. “You can take her.”

“Me?” Chloe says. “Why do _I_ have to take her?”

Lucifer frowns. “Well surely you don’t expect _me_ to punch her?”

“Why am I being punched?” Linda asks. “What’s going on?”

“Long story,” Lucifer replies. “The Detective will explain. I need to speak with my brother.” He shoves past her and into the house without waiting for an invitation. 

Linda sighs. “By all means, Lucifer, please come in.”

Chloe wants to laugh, but she feels guilty for intruding. “Sorry, Linda,” she says with a wince. “I know it’s late.”

Linda smiles. “Don’t apologize. It’s not the first time he’s barged in at an odd hour. I should be used to it by now.”

“You mean he has no concept of boundaries? I’m shocked to hear you say that.”

Linda laughs and beckons her inside. “Come in. I’ll make some tea.”

Chloe thanks her and steps into the house. Linda shuts the door behind her. They’ve just gotten down the entryway steps when Lucifer strides out of the kitchen with a half-eaten chocolate chip cookie in his hand. Chloe considers pointing out to him that he probably should have asked before he helped himself to Linda’s cookies, but decides against it.

“These are delicious,” he announces, grinning around a mouthful of cookie. “Well done, Doctor. You should give the Detective your recipe. She enjoys baking with the urchin around the holidays.”

“It’s the recipe on the back of the Nestle bag,” Linda says to her.

Chloe smiles. “Trixie’s favorite.”

“A bag?” Lucifer repeats with a frown. “Who puts a recipe on a bag?” And then he waves his hand. “Nevermind, I don’t care. Where’s my brother, Doctor? I assume fast asleep since it’s far past his bedtime and he’s incapable of fun.”

“Actually, he’s not here,” Linda replies. 

Lucifer frowns. “Well then where is he?” 

“He went up to the Silver City. After he saw your father off, he decided to visit some of your siblings.”

Chloe’s heart stutters to a stop in her chest. For the first time since the beach, she’s afraid. She glances at Lucifer. He meets her gaze and looks just as worried as she feels.

Linda glances between them with a frown. “Don’t worry,” she says. “It’s just a short visit. He said he wouldn’t be gone long.”

Chloe shakes her head. Time is different in Heaven and Hell. What might seem like five minutes to Amenadiel could be years. And they don’t have years. 

“Lucifer,” she murmurs. 

“Don’t worry, darling,” he says, holding out his hand. “He’ll come if I pray. Just give me a moment. Excuse me.”

He turns and strides out of the room, leaving Linda and Chloe in silence. 

The moment he’s out of sight, panic claws at Chloe’s chest. She’s immediately annoyed with herself. She’s a homicide detective, for god’s sake. She shouldn’t need her boyfriend around to make her feel safe. But whatever’s happening is definitely out of her wheelhouse, and tonight has been awful. It helps to have Lucifer close. It makes things...less awful.

“Chloe?” Linda says, putting her hand on Chloe’s arm. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Chloe replies. “I’m fine. Totally fine. Everything is fine.” 

Linda lifts her eyebrows. “Riiiight,” she says slowly. And then she pats Chloe on the arm. “Let’s get some tea.”

Linda heads for the kitchen. Chloe watches her go. Maybe it’s because Lucifer is gone, but she’s suddenly wondering if Linda is going to flip the way Dan and Trixie did. What if she’s just tricking them into a false sense of security? What if she’s going to—

“Chloe?” Linda calls from the kitchen. 

Chloe looks up. 

Linda gestures in the direction Lucifer went. “You can go with him if you’re uncomfortable.”

Chloe frowns. “Uncomfortable?” 

“You’re reaching for a gun you don’t have,” Linda says, glancing down at Chloe’s hip. 

Chloe follows her gaze, and sure enough, her hand is at her hip where her sidearm would usually be. 

“Oh,” she says. She drops her hand. “No, I’m…” She doesn’t know what she is, and she doesn’t know how to finish that sentence, so she sighs instead. 

“I can put some whiskey in your tea,” Linda offers with a smile. “If you need to take the edge off.”

Chloe studies her. That sounds like something Linda would say, and she looks how Linda should look, and she hasn’t started spouting off about Lucifer being dangerous or evil or too selfish to love her. Maybe Lucifer is right. Maybe this is a weird celestial preview of what their divorce would be like, and Linda is in his camp, so she’s safe. There’s no reason to worry. 

Or maybe not. 

Chloe walks across the house, stops in front of Linda, and leans forward to look into the doctor’s eyes. She wants to check for the flicker herself. Not that she doesn’t trust Lucifer. She just...wants to be sure.

“Are you looking for flickers?” Linda asks dryly. 

Chloe doesn’t answer. She waits a little longer, but nothing appears. Linda’s eyes aren’t flickering. They just look normal. 

“Sorry,” Chloe says, leaning back. “Just trying to be careful.”

Linda smiles and nods at the closest barstool. “Why don’t you sit down?”

Chloe slides onto the stool with a sigh. Her feet hurt in these heels. She misses her sensible brown shoes. When all this is over, she’s never wearing high heels again. Ever. Flip flops or boots. That’s it.

A memory of the look on Lucifer’s face when he saw her high heels surfaces.

Well, maybe not _never._

She pushes the memory away and glances toward the hallway that Lucifer disappeared down. She can’t see him. She can’t hear his voice either. Which is fine, right? He probably doesn’t pray out loud. Unless he’s not praying. Is he calling Amenadiel? Do cell phones work in Heaven? Or is there, like, some other way that angels communicate with each other?

She looks away from the hallway and pushes her hand through her hair. She desperately needs a hair tie. She should’ve bought one at CVS. She meant to. She just got distracted trying to make sure Lucifer didn’t buy the entire candy aisle. 

“So,” Linda says as she sets the tea kettle on the stove and flicks on the burner. “You want to tell me what’s going on?”

“Well I would,” Chloe says with a sigh, “except I have no idea.”

Linda gives her a sympathetic smile. “Why don’t you start by telling me why you and Lucifer are suddenly obsessed with really intense eye contact?”

Chloe snorts. “We probably seem crazy to you, huh?”

Linda shakes her head. “I don’t believe in crazy. The human mind is a complex thing. We don’t always understand why other people’s brains work the way they do, but that doesn’t make them crazy. In my experience, the people who call others crazy are just too lazy to find a better explanation. Or too cruel.”

A lump forms in Chloe’s throat. She didn’t realize how badly she needed to hear that. She was called crazy so many times after Palmetto. Hearing Dan say it to her tonight was...well, it didn’t feel good. Even if he wasn’t really himself.

“Do you feel crazy?” Linda asks gently. 

Chloe nods. “Yeah. I mean, I know I’m not. But…”

“But?” Linda prods. 

Chloe chews her bottom lip and searches for the words. “I guess I’m just wondering when we’re going to catch a break. I mean, why is it that every time Lucifer and I finally get to a good place, everything just implodes?”

“So you two got into a fight?” 

“No,” Chloe says, shaking her head. “The exact opposite, actually. We’re fighting with everyone else. I mean, Maze showed up unannounced at the penthouse and started ranting about how bad Lucifer is for me, and then a bunch of cops from my precinct showed up too, and they were acting so…”

“Crazy?” Linda supplies with a smile. 

“Yeah,” Chloe says. “They were dead set on getting me away from Lucifer. I had to fight them, Linda. _Physically_ fight them. And Maze...I mean, the penthouse looks like a bomb went off.”

“Why were they trying to get you away from Lucifer?”

“I don’t know,” Chloe says, throwing up her hands. “That’s the thing. They were acting like he’s dangerous. One of them literally said _love doesn’t hurt_ to me. Like, what the hell is that? That’s what we say to domestic abuse victims, and I’m not...I mean, this is Lucifer we’re talking about. _My_ Lucifer. He’d cut his own arm off before he hurt me.”

Linda doesn’t answer. Chloe looks up when the silence drags on too long. The doctor is frozen, and she has an odd expression on her face. Like she’s trying to remember something but can’t quite grasp it. 

“Linda?” Chloe asks. 

Linda meets her gaze. “What did you say just now?”

“I said Lucifer would never hurt me.”

Linda nods. She purses her lips the way she does when she’s thinking, and then she says, “Well that’s not exactly true, is it?”

Warning bells start to blare in the back of Chloe’s mind. “What do you mean?” 

“Well he has hurt you in the past,” Linda says. “Repeatedly, in fact. I understand it wasn’t physical, but that doesn’t mean it wasn’t painful. It might be difficult for people who care about you to believe that he won’t do it again.” 

Chloe presses her lips together. Linda’s eyes aren’t flickering, but Chloe’s gut is telling her that something is wrong. 

She straightens on the stool. “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course,” Linda replies.

“What do you think of my decision to be with Lucifer?”

Linda tilts her head. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

“I mean do you think I’m making a mistake? Do you think he’s going to hurt me?”

“Do _you?_ ”

“I’m the one asking the questions, Linda. Not you.”

Linda lifts her eyebrows. They stare each other down for a moment, and then Linda folds her hands on the counter. “I have a feeling I’m being interrogated.”

Chloe lets her silence speak for itself.

Linda nods. “All right.” She straightens a little. “I think you see him differently than other people do. You always have. And I think Lucifer wants to be who you think he is.”

“And who is it I think he is?”

“A good man.”

The words hang in the air and then settle over Chloe like a chill. She stares across the island at her friend, waiting, and she finally sees it—a flicker in Linda’s eyes. 

Chloe’s first thought is how heartbroken Lucifer is going to be. But then, after her heart squeezes in her chest, rage takes over. This isn’t fair. None of this is fair. Lucifer has spent all of eternity being blamed for things he hasn’t done and being held responsible for things other people did. Now he’s finally found a home, finally found a family, and they’re turning on him?

Chloe curls her hands into fists and tries to control her temper. “I don’t think he’s good,” she says, her voice wavering with barely restrained anger. “I _know_ he’s good.”

“Chloe,” Linda says gently. “I’ve seen this before in patients.”

“Seen what?”

“A savior complex.”

Chloe exhales sharply through her nose. “You have _got_ to be kidding me.”

“There’s a reason you’re a cop,” Linda forges on. “You want to help people. You want to protect them, and save them, and Lucifer is no different. You two have a connection. I’m not disputing that. But that connection is affecting your judgment.”

“For god’s sake,” Chloe says, pushing her stool back and getting to her feet. “What the hell is wrong with all of you?”

“You don’t need to be ashamed of how you feel,” Linda says, holding out her hands in a placating gesture. “I understand it can be very intoxicating when you think you have the power to make someone—”

“I’m not _making_ him anything,” Chloe cuts her off angrily. “He already _is._ You of all people should know that. You know him better than anyone, maybe even me.”

“I do know him,” Linda says patiently. “That’s what I’m trying to tell you. What Lucifer wants more than anything in this world is to be loved. And he will do whatever it takes to get that love, even if it means jumping into something he’s not ready for.”

“Linda—”

“I know he tries to be a good man. And his effort matters. I’m not saying it doesn’t, or that he’s a lost cause. But that doesn’t mean he’s ready to give you what you’re asking for. He’s not like other men, Chloe. He’s swimming against the current of literal millennia of habits and beliefs—”

“You’re a shrink, Linda,” Chloe says, brandishing her finger. “You’re supposed to know people can change.”

“People _can_ change. But change isn’t permanent, Chloe. It’s cyclical. Addicts relapse. People fall off the wagon. Lucifer is no different, and he’s reverting back to his old self. I can see it happening. And I think you can too. I saw it written all over your face at family dinner when he brought up that he’s invulnerable again.”

Chloe frowns. “What?”

“Lucifer was vulnerable by choice,” Linda replies. “It was a physical manifestation of a subconscious desire. He wanted to be vulnerable with you, but he wasn’t sure how, so he let his body be vulnerable as he learned to let his heart do the same.”

“So?”

“So if he’s invulnerable again, that means something. It says something about the state of his mind.”

For a moment, all Chloe can think about is that damn cave at the abandoned zoo, and Michael sneering at her on the other side of the bars. But then she remembers her kitchen the other morning, and the bright red blood on Lucifer’s shirt. She thinks of the cut on his forehead after their shootout with the cartel, and the small scratches on his palm after he brushed broken glass off her thigh.

“He’s not invulnerable.”

Linda frowns. “What?”

“He’s not invulnerable,” Chloe repeats. “I’ve seen him bleed at least three times in the last week.”

“But he said—” 

“He was invulnerable when Dan shot him. But he’s not now. So if you’re trying to use that as evidence that he’s relapsing, then you’re wrong.”

Linda looks stunned. “Wait,” she says. “Wait. Dan _shot_ him? That’s when he became invulnerable?” 

“Yeah.”

“But then he became vulnerable again.”

“Yeah.”

Linda’s eyes go wide. She leans over the counter. “Does Lucifer know you were upset?”

Chloe frowns. “What?”

“You seemed upset at family dinner when he brought up that he was invulnerable,” Linda says impatiently. “Did you guys talk about it? Did you tell him that you were afraid that he was reverting back to his old self?”

“I mean, I didn’t say it _exactly_ like that. But yeah. I guess so.”

Linda’s mouth is hanging open now. She looks completely, utterly stunned. And then she shakes her head, and a smile starts to form on her lips. “I can’t believe this.”

“Can’t believe what?”

“I was right,” she says, more to herself than to Chloe. “He _has_ changed.”

For a moment, Chloe is too confused to say anything. That’s...not something that someone who was under the influence of the flicker would say. In fact, it’s the exact _opposite_ of what Linda said two minutes ago. 

Chloe leans over the counter, searching Linda’s eyes, but the flicker isn’t there anymore. It’s gone. 

What the hell?

“So you don’t think Lucifer is regressing?” Chloe asks.

Linda laughs. “No.” 

Chloe blinks at her, and then she leans against the counter and sighs. “I am _so_ confused.”

Linda smiles kindly. “Let me explain. When Lucifer subconsciously chose to be physically vulnerable, I don’t think it was just about him. He wasn’t just responding to his own desire. He was responding to _yours_. You wanted him to be vulnerable with you, and he wanted to give you what you wanted, so he was vulnerable in the only way he knew how to be.”

Chloe frowns. “But when Dan shot him, the bullet bounced right off.”

“Because Lucifer was responding to your desire again. He gave you what he knew you’d want. He knew it would hurt you if he was shot or killed, so he made himself invulnerable so you wouldn’t suffer.”

“So if he’s physically vulnerable again…?”

“It’s because _you_ want him to be,” Linda finishes. “He recognized how upset you were about his invulnerability returning, and he was upset that you were upset, so he reverted back to the state you wanted him to be in. All along, he’s been trying to give you what you want. Subconsciously, but still.”

Chloe blinks at her, stunned. 

The ear splitting whistle of the tea kettle stops any further conversation. Linda jumps in surprise, and then turns toward the stove. Chloe watches her, but her mind is elsewhere. Her brain is still stuttering over the revelation that Lucifer’s invulnerability—or lack thereof—might be tied to her and what she wants. 

On the one hand, it’s flattering. He still hasn’t said _I love you,_ but making himself vulnerable again so she wouldn’t feel insecure about his feelings is a hell of a statement. On the other hand, though, it makes her feel sick to her stomach. He could be shot or stabbed or worse, and he did that for her. He thought she wanted him to be at risk more than she wanted him to be safe. What does that say about her? What does that say about their relationship? 

“Here,” Linda says, sliding a mug across the counter.

Chloe smiles. “Thanks.” She wraps her hands around the mug and watches the steam curl from the top. 

“So,” Linda says. “How are things with you and Lucifer other than the vulnerability issue?”

Chloe looks up. “They’re good. _Really_ good, actually.”

Linda purses her lips and nods but doesn’t reply. Silence hangs in the air. Chloe knows Linda is staying silent on purpose. She does the same thing in interrogations. When you give people silence and time, they feel compelled to fill it. But somehow, knowing that isn’t enough to keep Chloe from talking. 

“He’s planning our first date,” she says. 

Linda lifts her eyebrows. “Oh?”

“Yeah. He says he wants it to be special. Which, like, so do I, but...I mean, he’s Lucifer. Should I be worried? Because I just keep thinking about that billboard on Sunset he rented when I was upset about the gift from God thing, and I…”

She trails off when Linda’s expression goes slack.

“Linda?”

Linda doesn’t answer.

“Linda,” Chloe calls again.

Linda snaps her gaze up to meet Chloe’s. “Sorry. I was just...have you guys talked about that?”

Chloe frowns. “Talked about what?”

“About how you’re a gift that his father created to manipulate him.”

Chloe frowns. She’s opening her mouth to disagree, but she stops short when a brief flash of silver and blue flickers suddenly in Linda’s eyes. 

Chloe’s heart sinks. She pushes her mug away. “Is that really what you think?” she asks quietly. 

“Well I’m only human,” Linda says. “I won’t pretend to know what God’s plan is. But if Lucifer’s father wanted to teach him how to care about other people more than he cares about himself, then manipulating him into falling in love with someone as selfless as you would be a good way to do it.”

The words sting more than Chloe wants them to. She’s trying to decide whether she wants to argue or just give up and go get Lucifer when Linda shakes her head. 

“No,” she breathes.

Chloe frowns. “No?” she repeats.

Linda doesn’t react. She’s staring off into space, her eyes glassy. “Lucifer doesn’t really believe that his father manipulates him,” she says softly. “He told you that. And you believe him.”

Chloe frowns. “He never told me that.”

“No, not you,” Linda says, looking up. “Me. He told me that.”

“He did?”

“Yes. He—” 

Linda stops talking abruptly. She stands frozen for a few seconds, and then her eyes flicker. She straightens and meets Chloe’s gaze. “Lucifer believes that his father is using you to manipulate him.”

Chloe blinks at her, confused. Why does Linda keep contradicting herself? Why is she...

The realization hits like a lightning bolt. 

“You’re fighting it,” Chloe breathes.

Linda frowns. “What?”

“That’s why you keep going back and forth,” Chloe continues. “Because sometimes you can see through the illusion.”

“What illusion?”

Chloe strides around the island and grabs Linda’s shoulders. “I need you to listen to me, okay? There’s something weird going on. A spell, or a hallucination, or...I don’t know the right words, but it’s something, okay? It’s something that makes people think that Lucifer is evil, and that I need to break up with him.” 

“You should.”

Chloe shakes her head. “No. Linda, listen—”

“No, you listen,” Linda interrupts. “Chloe, I know him. I know him better than anyone. And he’s not ready for this. He’s not ready for you.”

“You can fight this, Linda,” Chloe insists. She feels desperation well up in her throat and she tries to swallow around it. “Please fight it. _Please._ He needs you to be on his side.”

“I _am_ on his side. I’m his therapist. But I’m your friend, Chloe, and that’s more important. And I’m telling you, as your friend, Lucifer isn’t ready to be in a serious relationship with you. I don’t know if he’s ever going to be ready. I’m not sure he’s capable.”

Chloe opens her mouth to argue, but Lucifer’s voice rings out through the kitchen before she can. 

“Is that so, Doctor?”

Chloe whips around to face him. He’s standing framed in the doorway, his fingers fiddling with one of his cufflinks. Everything about his posture screams casual and unaffected, but Chloe isn’t fooled. She can see it in his eyes. He’s hurt. She wonders how much he heard. 

“Lucifer,” she starts.

“Yes,” Linda cuts her off. “Chloe isn’t like your other conquests, Lucifer.”

“I’m aware,” Lucifer says stiffly.

“She has a dangerous, stressful job,” Linda forges on. “She has a child. She needs stability and assurance. That’s why she chose Pierce.”

“Pierce?” Lucifer echoes, straightening to his full height. His eyes flash. “What the bloody hell does—”

“He offered her what you didn’t,” Linda interrupts. “That’s why she said yes to his proposal. He was safe and steady and stable, and he was ready to devote his life to her.”

“ _I’m_ ready to devote my life to her.”

“Are you sure?" 

Lucifer opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. He glances at Chloe. She can’t handle the distress in his eyes. 

“Stop it, Linda,” she says quietly.

Linda shakes her head. “No. It’s important that he faces the truth. Relationships are hard work, Lucifer. They take commitment and persistence and selflessness. You have to put her first. You have to be sure about what you want—”

“I know what I want, Doctor,” Lucifer cuts her off, his voice thundering through the kitchen. “And so do you. You asked me once, remember? You asked me what I wanted, and I told you, and it hasn’t changed. It’s all I’ve wanted since our first case, even if I didn’t realize it.”

Linda doesn’t answer. Her face goes slack like it did before. Hope flutters in Chloe’s chest. 

“Fight it, Linda,” she says, reaching out to grab the doctor’s arm. “Focus on what you know.”

“What I know,” Linda says slowly, almost robotically. She blinks, and then she shakes her head and fixes her gaze on Lucifer. Her eyes flicker silver and blue. 

“What I know is that you are unfathomably narcissistic,” she says, her voice hard. “You are utterly terrified of intimacy. And you have a long, _long_ history of sabotaging everything good that has ever happened to you. This relationship won’t be any different.”

Lucifer looks like he just got suckerpunched.

Anger flares in Chloe’s gut. “Stop it, Linda.”

Linda ignores her. “I know you, Lucifer. You’ll try to hold on to her, but you’ll hold on too tight. You’ll put too much pressure on yourself, and it’ll make you resent her, and then you’ll look for an escape. Alcohol. Drugs. Other women. Anything and anyone but her.”

Lucifer flinches.

“ _Stop_ it,” Chloe says through clenched teeth. 

“You’ll break her heart,” Linda continues, still ignoring Chloe. “And you know it. If you love her, if you _really_ love her, you’ll do what’s best for her. You—”

“ _Enough,_ ” Chloe snarls, stepping between Linda and Lucifer. 

Linda blinks in surprise. “Chloe?” she murmurs.

Chloe glares at her, and then turns toward Lucifer. He’s staring at the floor, his eyes glassy. His posture lacks all its usual confidence. Defeat is coming off of him in waves.

“Lucifer,” Chloe murmurs.

He gives no indication that he heard her, so she crosses the room to stand in front of him. He doesn’t look at her. 

“Look at me, babe,” she whispers, brushing her hand over his face. 

He lifts his gaze to meet hers. 

“You know none of that is true,” she tells him, holding his gaze. “You know what’s real.”

He swallows hard, his throat bobbing, and says nothing. 

She frames his face in her hands and shifts closer to him. “Say it to me,” she whispers. “Tell me what’s real.”

He tilts toward her. “You.” 

“Us,” she corrects. 

“Detective,” he breathes, his voice breaking.

She kisses him. What else can she do? She can hear the defeat bleeding into his voice, and she can’t stand it, so she rises onto her toes and kisses him because that’s what he understands. That’s his language. And it’ll be hers, too, if that’s what he needs.

“I love you,” she whispers afterward. “Okay? That’s what’s real. We’re real.”

He presses his forehead to hers. His hands wrap around her hips, and his fingers flex against her like he’s holding on for dear life. “You and me,” he whispers.

“Yeah,” she murmurs. “You and me.”

He sucks in a deep, shuddering breath, and then lets it out. Chloe lingers close to him for a moment, and then she grabs one of his hands. 

“Let’s get out of here.” 

She leads him by the hand toward the front door. He follows her without a word, his fingers woven through hers.

“Chloe,” Linda calls out after her. “Chloe, wait.”

Chloe holds Lucifer’s hand tighter and doesn’t turn around. 


	13. Thirteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys, seriously, you say the nicest things in my comments. Thank you!

Lucifer has the car keys in his pocket, but unlike he did at the beach, he doesn’t offer them to Chloe.

She isn’t sure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing. She doesn’t ask. She slides into the passenger seat of Dan’s cruiser without comment, and then buckles her seatbelt as Lucifer starts the car. She glances at him as he pulls away from the curb, but his face is an impassive mask. She can’t read him. She wants to ask him if he’s okay, but she knows he’s not. She has a feeling he needs some time to gather his thoughts, so she presses her lips together and stares out the windshield. He seems to be driving with a purpose, though she has no idea where he’s taking her. They can’t go back to the penthouse, and they can’t go to her place. Where else can they go? 

She’s struck, all of a sudden, by how much has changed in just a week. Last week they were driving toward Linda’s house for family dinner, flirting and laughing and happy. Now they’re driving away from Linda’s in a deathly silence, and the world seems to have gone to hell. 

“Amenadiel didn’t answer me,” Lucifer says quietly. 

Chloe looks over at him in surprise. “What?”

He tightens his fingers around the steering wheel. “Amenadiel,” he repeats. “He didn’t respond.”

“Is that normal?”

“No.”

Chloe frowns. “Do you think he’s okay?”

“I’ve no idea.”

Chloe waits for him to elaborate, but he doesn’t. Fear wells up in her throat like vomit. She swallows it down and looks out the window. She’s not the kind of person who panics, but it’s hard to ignore the fluttering of anxiety in her chest. Everyone they know has gone insane, and the one person they were hoping would have answers is unreachable. What the hell are they supposed to do now?

Lucifer’s hand slides over her knee. “I know you’re frightened, Detective,” he says softly.

“Aren’t you?” she asks, turning to look at him. 

He blinks in surprise. “Well I…” 

He trails off. Chloe wonders if he’s choosing not to say anything because he can’t lie and he doesn’t want to admit the truth. She looks out the window and chews her lip.

“I will admit I’m unsettled,” Lucifer murmurs after a while. “Amenadiel is annoyingly reliable, and it doesn’t bode well that he’s either out of reach or not listening.”

Chloe doesn’t say anything. Lucifer’s hand is still on her knee. He strokes his thumb over her skin. 

“I am unsettled by the Doctor as well,” he continues. “I didn’t expect her to…” He clears his throat. “I thought she, at least, might be on my side.”

Chloe looks at him. “She was.”

He frowns. “Did you not hear anything she said?”

“I heard it. But before you came out, she was different. She was trying to fight it.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean while you were trying to get in touch with Amenadiel, she kept bouncing back and forth. One minute she was the real Linda, telling me that you’ve changed and you’re vulnerable again for my sake, and then she’d flip and act like everyone else.”

Lucifer’s frown deepens. “What did she say about my vulnerability?”

“You remember how Amenadiel said you were choosing to be vulnerable around me? Like, you did it because you wanted to?”

“Yes.”

“Well apparently Linda—the real Linda—thinks you weren’t just responding to your own desire. You were responding to mine.”

“Yours?”

“Yeah. I wanted you to be vulnerable, and you wanted to give me what I wanted, but you didn’t know how, so you made yourself physically vulnerable. When Dan shot you, you became bulletproof because you knew that’s what I’d want. And then when you realized that your invulnerability upset me, you changed back.”

“Hm,” Lucifer says thoughtfully. Chloe watches him carefully, curious about how he’ll react. He looks puzzled for a moment, but then he nods. “That makes sense.”

Chloe blinks. “It does?”

“Well of course. I don’t just draw out people’s desires, Detective. I enjoy fulfilling them as well. So it’s a perfectly reasonable assumption that I would respond to what you desired.”

Chloe’s heart sinks. “So it’s not actually about me,” she says. “You would’ve become vulnerable for anyone if that’s what they wanted.”

He scoffs. “Well of course not, Detective.”

Chloe frowns. “No?”

“No. I enjoy fulfilling desires, but I’m not _compelled_ to do it. I do it if and when I choose. And apparently I chose you. Repeatedly.” He smiles. “You must be quite pleased to hear that my relapse into vulnerability is, in fact, your doing.”

“No,” she says, shaking her head. 

The smile on his lips fades. He pulls his hand back from her knee, and Chloe feels suddenly cold. 

“What do you mean _no?_ ” he says, his eyes darting back and forth between her and the road. “I thought you _wanted_ me to be vulnerable.”

“Lucifer, I—”

“You were upset and I _fixed_ it. I fixed it for _you._ So you wouldn’t worry about my feelings for you. So you’d be _happy._ ”

He doesn’t just look confused anymore, he looks hurt. And she doesn’t want that.

“Lucifer,” she murmurs, reaching for his arm.

He jerks away from her touch, and the car swerves with his movement. “You’re not happy with me.”

The pain in his voice breaks her heart, and she knows that after everything that happened with Linda, there are a lot more layers to the phrase _you’re not happy with me_ than just this specific context. She also knows they can’t have this conversation while he’s driving. The last thing they need right now is to end up wrapped around a tree.

“Lucifer, pull the car over.” 

“No,” he says petulantly. The car speeds up. 

She gives him a look. “Pull the car over, Lucifer. Now.”

He huffs out an exasperated breath, but he yanks the wheel to the side and pulls the car over. He slams on the brakes so hard Chloe lurches a little in her seat, and then he shoves the gear shift into park.

“Are you happy now?” he asks, glaring out the windshield. “I did as you desired. Although apparently that’s not enough to make you happy.”

Chloe sighs. She turns in her seat to face him. “Can you look at me please?”

He snorts derisively and continues to glare out the windshield. Chloe waits. She used to have to do this with Trixie back in her toddler days. Lucifer might have more time than she does, considering the whole immortal angel thing, but she’ll wait as long as she needs to. She can be stubborn too. 

Eventually, Lucifer meets her gaze. Chloe reaches out and sets her hand on his forearm, and she’s glad when he doesn’t recoil. 

“If Linda is right, and you became vulnerable again because you thought that’s what I wanted, that is very, _very_ sweet.”

He looks briefly vindicated, but then his eyebrows furrow. “I sense a _but_ coming.” 

She exhales a breath. “But that’s not what I want.”

“You said—”

“I know what I said. But I don’t want you to put yourself in danger just because I’m afraid that you don’t—”

She stops abruptly. His eyes widen a little. 

“Just because I’m afraid,” she amends. “Yes, part of me wanted you to be vulnerable again because it was reassuring. It was...I don’t know. Proof, I guess. But Lucifer I never, _ever_ want you to get hurt. Okay? Especially not for something as stupid as that.”

He frowns. “So you want me to be invulnerable?”

“If you can be, yeah. So can you...I don’t know, can you undo it?”

He gives her an incredulous look. “I’m not a cell phone, Detective. You can’t just press a button and restore me to factory settings.”

“Well can you _try?_ ”

“How on earth would I do that?”

“I don’t know. I mean, what did you do before Dan shot you? What were you thinking?”

“I was thinking that your douchey ex was about to do something douchey and keep me from ever having sex with you again.”

Chloe gives him a look. “Seriously?”

“Yes seriously,” he says. “Not all of us are accustomed to dry spells, Detective, and I spent thousands of years in Hell with nothing but my imagination, so I—”

“Wait,” Chloe cuts him off. “You didn’t have sex in Hell?”

He looks appalled. “Did you think I did?”

“I don’t know,” she says defensively. “I didn’t really think about it.”

“Well how _nice_ for you. You were up here running around with Maze, solving cases and partying at Lux and not thinking about me, and meanwhile I’m down there for thousands of years trying to remember how your ass looks in jeans.”

For a second Chloe’s brain trips over his admission that he likes the way her ass looks in jeans, but then she pushes the thought away. 

“Hold on,” she says. “Are you saying you waited for me?”

“Well of course I did, Detective,” he replies, throwing up his hands as if he’s completely exasperated by her. 

“But I thought you didn’t plan on coming back.”

“I didn’t.”

“Then why—”

“Well I _hoped,_ Detective. And in any case, I didn’t want sex if it wasn’t with _you._ ”

Chloe stares at him. She still doesn’t fully understand how Hell works, but she knows there are thousands of demons down there. Demons who look like Maze. Demons who worship him as king and will do anything—literally _anything_ —he wants, whenever he wants, no questions asked. He was down there for thousands of years, and he could’ve done whatever he wanted, and she never would have known. But he waited for her. For _her._

“Lucifer,” she murmurs. 

Lucifer looks confused for a second, and then he perks up like someone just offered him a lifetime supply of gummy bears. “Are we finally going to have car sex?”

Chloe frowns. “What?”

He points at her. “The last time you said my name like that—”

“ _No,_ ” Chloe says, shoving his hand away. “No, I am not about to have sex with you in my ex-husband’s police cruiser on the side of the road. God, Lucifer.” 

“Well you don’t have to bring Dad into it,” he huffs. 

Chloe rolls her eyes. “Can you just focus on trying to be bulletproof?”

“Fine,” he says. He shifts in his seat, tugging on his jacket, and then closes his eyes. 

“What are you doing?”

“I’m focusing. Do you mind? You’re very distracting.”

Chloe swallows a sarcastic retort and presses her lips together. 

Lucifer stays like that for a minute or so, silence hanging in the air, and then he cracks one eye open. “Well? Do I look bulletproof?”

“I don’t know,” Chloe says, looking him over. “You look the same.”

He nods at the glove compartment. “Give us the gun that’s in there and we’ll find out.”

“What? No.” 

“Well we have to test it somehow, Detective.”

“Yeah, but not by _shooting_ you.”

“Why not?”

“Um, because if it doesn’t work then you’ll be shot? Seriously, you have no concept of self-preservation. How have you not died more often in the last few years?”

“For Dad’s sake,” Lucifer sighs. “Do you have something sharp then?”

She doesn’t, but she knows Dan keeps a knife in his glove compartment. She reaches into the glove compartment, pulls it out, and flips open the blade. Lucifer rolls up his sleeve. Chloe holds out the knife. He takes it from her, and then traces a small line on his arm. Blood oozes to the surface of his skin. 

“Damn it,” he says.

“Try again. Think harder.”

He looks up at her. “Think harder? Are you joking?”

“You can self-actualize,” Chloe insists. “You just have to try harder. Here, come here.” 

She holds out her hands, and he frowns at her. She rolls her eyes and grabs his face, and then leans forward so that they’re only a breath apart.

“Lucifer,” she says.

He arches an eyebrow. “Yes, Detective?”

“I want you to be invulnerable. Knife-proof, bulletproof, all of it. Completely invulnerable.” She drops her hands. “Okay, now try it.” 

He lifts the knife obediently, but as the blade slides over his skin, another thin line of blood appears. Chloe sighs.

“You know, this might not be my fault,” Lucifer says, looking up at her. “Are you sure you really mean it?” 

“Seriously?” she says. “You think I _want_ you to bleed?”

“Well it sure as hell seems like it,” he says, gesturing at his arm. 

“ _You’re_ the one who self-actualizes, Lucifer.”

“Yes, and according to the Doctor, I do it at _your_ behest.” 

Chloe flops back into her seat with a sigh. “Forget it.”

Lucifer wipes the blade on his pant leg and then flips it closed. Chloe folds her arms over her chest and glowers at the windshield. 

“Perhaps the Doctor was incorrect,” Lucifer offers into the silence. 

“Maybe,” Chloe replies.

“Oh come now, Detective,” Lucifer says. “There’s no reason to be glum.”

“You’re right. Everyone we know hates us, you’re vulnerable because I’m insecure and needy, and the one person who could help us get things back to normal is MIA for reasons unknown. Everything is _fine._ ”

Lucifer sighs. “You are the least needy person I’ve ever met, Detective. You have no reason to be insecure other than your terrible taste in junk food and your atrocious taste in men. Present company excluded, of course. And I don’t believe Amenadiel is the only one who can help us, so we still have options.”

Chloe looks at him. “Do you have another sibling on earth?”

“Not to my knowledge. But as I told you, I’m not sure this is celestial. If you’re right that Doctor Linda was able to fight the effects, then this could be something much simpler.”

“Like?”

“Magic.”

“Magic?” Chloe repeats. “You mean like in Harry Potter?”

Lucifer rolls his eyes. “Please don’t say that in front of a sorcerer.”

“When would I meet a sorcerer?” Chloe asks incredulously. 

Lucifer lifts a shoulder. “Half an hour or so unless you have objections. And depending on traffic, of course.”

Chloe blinks at him. “Wait, you’re serious? You want to take me to meet a sorcerer?”

“Well, technically she prefers the term magician,” Lucifer says. “She has an extensive knowledge of magical lore, so if this is magic, she’ll know. And it’s very likely she’ll be able to fix it for us.”

“You mean because she’s such a good magician?”

“Well, there’s that.” Lucifer grins. “Also, she owes me.”

“Of course she does.” 

Lucifer reaches for the gear shift. “Shall we? Or do you have a better idea?”

“I have zero ideas.”

“So?”

Chloe gestures at the road before them. “So let’s go meet your magician.”

* * *

When Lucifer parks the car on what appears to be a deserted street in front of a massive warehouse not far from downtown, Chloe is more than a little confused. 

She squints out the window. “Are you sure this is it?”

“Quite sure,” Lucifer says, pulling the keys out of the ignition. “I’ve been here before, darling.”

Chloe looks at him. “Where is _here,_ exactly?”

“It’s a club.”

“Like Lux?”

“Not quite.” He tilts his head. “This place is a little more…”

When he doesn’t answer, Chloe narrows her eyes at him. “A little more _what?_ ”

“Over the top,” he answers with a wicked smile.

Chloe lifts her eyebrows. “You’re telling me there’s a club more over the top than Lux?”

“There are quite a few, actually. There’s a difference between excess and style, Detective, and I’ve always preferred the latter.” 

He winks at her and then climbs out of the car. Chloe follows him. She shuts the door behind her, and then eyes the warehouse as she walks around the front hood of the car to join him. It’s a massive brick building. The bricks are white, but the neon graffiti looks far more recent than the peeling white paint. Chloe thinks she can hear a pulsing beat, but she’s not sure. A sad-looking plastic bag blows across the street and catches her eye. 

“It doesn’t look like much,” she observes. 

“It’s not supposed to,” Lucifer replies. He presses his hand against the small of her back and guides her across the street and toward a very ordinary looking steel door. “That’s part of the allure.”

“What’s it called?”

He grins at her. “Deep Throat.”

Chloe nearly trips on her high heels in surprise. “Are you serious?” 

“Indeed.” 

“I’m guessing they weren’t thinking of Watergate.”

Lucifer chuckles. “No, Detective.” He leans closer to her. “If, once we’re inside, you should find yourself suddenly inspired—”

Chloe hisses his name and shoves him so hard he stumbles a few feet away from her. He throws his head back and laughs, and Chloe can’t help but grin at him even though she can feel her face flushing. 

“Horn dog,” she accuses. 

“Mmm, guilty as charged,” he hums, slinking back to her side. He slides his hand along her hip and pulls her flush against his chest. “But have you looked in a mirror? There’s not a person on the planet who’d blame me.”

“Flatterer.”

He lifts his free hand to her face and brushes his thumb over her bottom lip. “You think so?”

“Are you about to tell me the Devil doesn’t flatter?”

“Flattery is a close relative to dishonesty,” he murmurs. “And the Devil doesn’t lie. Certainly not to his beloved.”

Chloe’s heart flutters in her chest. He’s dancing awfully close to saying the three words they haven’t talked about yet, and judging by the look on his face, he doesn’t regret what he just called her. She wants to prod him to continue, or at the very least call her _beloved_ again, but she hates the idea of manipulating him into saying something just because he feels like he’s supposed to. So she gives him an out instead, and opens the door for him to say something suggestive so they’re back on familiar ground.

“I guess that’s true,” she says, tilting closer to him. “You made it pretty clear from day one that you were attracted to me.”

He shakes his head, and his thumb brushes over her lips again. “Hear my soul speak,” he murmurs. “The very instant that I saw you did my heart fly to your service, there resides to make me slave to it, and for your sake am I this patient log-man.”

Chloe’s heart stops fluttering and starts to thud. He’s giving her that look again. She loves when he looks at her like that. 

“What’s that from?” she whispers.

“Shakespeare,” he answers. He drops his hand. “You would’ve liked him.”

Chloe blinks. “I would’ve...wait, you knew _Shakespeare?_ ”

Lucifer smiles. “Quite well.” He pulls her toward the door by her elbow. “Now come on, Detective, we’ve got things to do. We mustn’t dawdle.”

Chloe stumbles after him, her brain stuttering over the lastest in a very long line of ridiculous revelations about her boyfriend. He knew _Shakespeare,_ for God’s sake. He’s the Devil and he knew Shakespeare. How is this her life?

When they get to the steel door, Lucifer swings it open and motions her inside. She steps through the doorway and into a vestibule of sorts, and immediately finds herself in the middle of what appears to be a very large group of people. She stops in surprise. 

“Oh no, darling,” Lucifer says in her ear. “The Devil doesn’t wait in lines.”

He brushes past her, catching her hand as he goes, and then leads her deeper into the building. As they weave through the crowd, Chloe realizes that it is, in fact, a line—it’s just so long that it curls past itself like a massive snake. Several people recognize Lucifer as he passes, and they greet him by name. He smiles and waves and is his normal charming self, but he doesn’t pause to actually talk to anyone. He keeps a firm grip on her hand, and Chloe gets more than a few appraising looks when people realize that she’s with him. 

By the time they get to what appears to be the front of the line, Chloe feels like the entire vestibule of people is staring at them. Lucifer doesn’t seem to notice. There’s a velvet rope barring the crowd from an entryway covered by black velvet curtains. Chloe can hear the music more clearly now. It’s a pounding, deep bass beat, the kind that conjures up memories of the clubs Jed used to love taking her to.

Behind the velvet rope are three of the largest bouncers Chloe’s ever seen wearing matching black suits. Standing in front of them is a very tiny, very pretty blonde in a shimmering red dress. Her face lights up the moment she sees Lucifer.

“Lucifer!” she squeals. 

“Jenna, darling,” Lucifer greets. “How are you?”

“Better now that you’re here!” Jenna exclaims, scurrying forward. “Where have you been? It’s been _forever_ since we’ve seen you.”

“I took a little work trip down south,” Lucifer replies. “But never fear, I’ve returned at last. I’m sure it’s been terribly boring without me.”

“Of course it has,” Jenna giggles. “Nobody parties like the Devil.” She unhooks the velvet rope and then finally spots Chloe. “Oh,” she says. “Who’s this?”

Lucifer pulls Chloe gently forward by the hand so that she’s standing at his side. “This is my girlfriend.”

Jenna’s eyebrows shoot up so high they seem to disappear into her hairline. 

Chloe offers her hand before Lucifer can introduce her as _the Detective._ “I’m Chloe.”

The surprise dissolves from Jenna’s face immediately. She beams and shakes Chloe’s hand. “I’m Jenna. Nice to meet you.” She gives Lucifer a sly smile and shoves him lightly on the chest. “Look at you, settling down. I think I’ve witnessed a miracle.”

Lucifer looks down at Chloe and winks. “You have no idea.”

Chloe presses her lips together around a smile and leans a little closer to him. 

“Well, you two are adorable,” Jenna announces. She looks over her shoulder. “Aren’t they adorable, Andre?”

The largest bouncer glances between Lucifer and Chloe and grunts. 

“He’s a man of few words,” Jenna says fondly. She leans toward Lucifer. “Except in the bedroom.”

“Oh, look at you,” Lucifer says, smiling broadly. “Well done.”

Jenna laughs and then motions them forward. “Come on, hurry up before he yells at me for leaving the rope open too long.”

Lucifer steps past the open velvet rope, and Chloe follows him. Jenna hooks it closed behind them. “Have fun!” she says brightly.

Chloe thanks her, and then Lucifer leads her by the hand through the black velvet curtains. They end up in another lobby-like room, though it’s far smaller than the one they just left. A pair of doors marked as bathrooms are on the left. There’s a couple fighting in hushed tones in a corner to the right, and a man who’s either very high, very drunk, or both talking animatedly to a potted palm tree in the opposite corner. 

“I think he found his soulmate,” Lucifer quips.

Chloe snorts. 

Lucifer smiles down at her, and then leads her through another set of black velvet curtains. 

When they get to the other side, Chloe’s mouth falls open. 

She’s been to plenty of clubs in Los Angeles, whether for work or in her younger days when she went out more, but she’s never seen anything like this. To her immediate right is the longest bar she’s ever seen. It’s at least the length of a football field, and it’s filled with people waiting for drinks or sitting on stools. There are a dozen high top tables in front of the bar, and there are people milling around those too. Chloe can’t help but stare, because she’s never seen so many people dressed so...uniquely. There are three men in wife beaters and jeans talking to three girls in designer cocktail dresses. There’s a woman wearing what appears to be a wedding dress, and a man in a giant hot dog costume. There’s a couple making out near one of the high top tables, and Chloe’s pretty sure they’re wearing body paint and not actual clothes. There are four men in white tuxedos by the bar. But it’s the five girls in bikinis that really give her pause. She watches them walk away, and then she realizes—

“Is that a _pool?_ ” she demands, tightening her hold on Lucifer’s hand. 

Lucifer smiles down at her. “It is.”

Chloe gapes at it. The end of the pool juts into the warehouse and is fenced to prevent stray dancers from falling in, but there’s a gate nearby leading out to a large patio where there are dozens of shirtless men and women in bikinis standing around heaters with open flames. There must be lights in the pool, because it appears to be blinking and flashing in unison with the lights on the ceiling of the club. There’s steam hovering over the water. 

“It’s heated,” Lucifer says in her ear as if on cue. “But I much prefer the hot tub.”

Chloe is too stunned to say anything. There’s a pool _and_ a hot tub? In a nightclub? What in the _actual_ hell...

“I’m afraid we won’t be venturing in that direction though,” Lucifer says. “We’re headed upstairs.”

He leads her back into the club. Once they get past the high top tables, they’re suddenly in the middle of a massive dance floor and surrounded by so many people it makes Chloe’s head spin. There’s a raised stage in the distance, and Chloe can see a DJ in an elevated booth, but she has no idea who he is. The bass beat is loud enough that she can feel it in her chest. _Got me running in circles around you to please you I do what I need to,_ a voice croons over the beat. _So pardon my manners just something about you turns me to a savage._ The beat drops, and there’s a roar from the crowd as the multi-colored lights in the warehouse flare and flash. The sea of people seems to move in unison, and Chloe can’t help but feel like she should join in.

When she and Lucifer finally get through the crowd, they stop at the foot of a spiral staircase. There’s an angry looking bouncer guarding the bottom step. Lucifer flashes him a smile, and the guard steps aside. Chloe follows Lucifer up the stairs, glancing out over the club as they climb. It looks even bigger from up here. She can’t believe how many people there are. 

When they get to the top of the stairs and step into what appears to be a lounge looking out over the club, the volume of the music drops drastically. Chloe can still hear it, but it’s not nearly as loud. She frowns. How is that possible? 

_Magic,_ her brain supplies, but she has no idea if that’s actually true. She glances up at Lucifer to ask, but he’s smiling at something in front of them. 

“Hello, Zatanna.”

Chloe follows his gaze. There’s a cluster of white couches in front of them and half a dozen people sitting on them. A woman stands up. She’s got the longest legs Chloe has ever seen, and they’re encased in black leather pants that would make Maze jealous. She’s wearing a white satin bustier that lifts her chest in a way that draws Chloe’s eyes, and a cropped leather jacket. Her black hair is curled and hanging loosely around her shoulders. 

She’s gorgeous. 

Her eyes are fixed on Lucifer. She walks across the room and stops in front of him, and her eyes travel slowly up his body. “Well well well,” she murmurs, folding her arms over her chest. “If it isn’t the Devil himself.”

Lucifer smiles. “You’re looking well.”

“You too.” Zatanna turns her gaze to Chloe and sizes her up. “I see you brought the flavor of the day.”

“I’m not the flavor of the day,” Chloe says, shaking her head. 

Zatanna’s eyebrows lift. “You sure about that?”

Chloe smirks and looks up at Lucifer. “I don’t know. Am I sure about that, Lucifer?”

“Quite sure, darling,” Lucifer replies with a grin. He slides his hand along the small of her back. “Zatanna, allow me to introduce you to my girlfriend, Detective Chloe Decker.”

Chloe isn’t sure what reaction she was expecting, but it certainly wasn’t for Zatanna to burst out laughing. Judging by the frown on Lucifer’s face, he wasn’t expecting it either. 

“I’m sorry,” Zatanna says, holding up her hand. “I just...I thought you said girlfriend.”

“I did,” Lucifer says. 

Zatanna starts to laugh again, but stops when no one joins her. Her eyebrows furrow. “You’re serious?”

Lucifer nods. “Swear to Dad.”

Zatanna glances between Lucifer and Chloe, clearly stunned. “Wow,” she says eventually. And then she smirks at Chloe. “You must be a real hellcat in bed.”

“Oh, you have _no_ idea,” Lucifer purrs. 

Chloe elbows him hard in the ribs. He bends forward with an exhaled _oof._ “Detective,” he whines, clutching his middle. “What was that for? You should be _proud_ of how fast you make the Devil come.”

Chloe’s face feels hot. “We’re keeping private things private, remember?” 

He huffs at her. “You know I don’t lie.”

“That doesn’t mean you have to tell the whole truth unprompted.”

“I didn’t,” he insists. “If I was going to do that I would have told her that in the shower last week, you—”

Chloe smacks her hand over his mouth. “If you ever want me to do that again, you’re going to stop talking.”

Lucifer’s eyes are glinting mischievously, but he lifts his hand and mimes locking his mouth closed. Chloe rolls her eyes. She drops her hand from his mouth and turns her attention back to Zatanna. 

The magician looks amused by their interaction. “Zatanna Zatara,” she says, holding out her hand. “Nice to meet you.”

“You too,” Chloe says, shaking her hand.

“So you’re a cop?”

“A homicide detective.”

Zatanna snorts. “I can’t believe the Devil fell for a _cop._ ”

“Neither can the Devil,” Lucifer says. “You know she drives the speed limit? And Dad forbid she eat candy before ten in the morning.”

“I’m standing right here, Lucifer,” Chloe says.

He looks her up and down with an expression that clearly says _I know what you look like naked and I’m imagining it right now._ “Yes, I can see that.”

Chloe sighs at him. 

“Well you guys have the bickering thing down,” Zatanna says in amusement. “How long have you been together?”

“Not long,” Chloe replies. “But we’ve worked together for a few years.”

Zatanna lifts her eyebrows. “You mean he helps you solve murders?”

Chloe nods. “Yeah.” She glances up at Lucifer with a smile. “He’s pretty good at it.”

“She’s being modest,” Lucifer says to Zatanna. “I’m exceptional. Best partner she’s ever had.”

Zatanna glances at Chloe, who lifts her shoulder in a shrug. He’s not wrong. 

“A crime-solving Devil,” Zatanna says with a snort. “Now I’ve seen it all.”

“Actually, that’s why we’re here,” Lucifer says. “We have a bit of a problem that might be magical in nature, and since, as you said, you’ve seen it all, we require your services.”

Zatanna folds her arms over her chest. “So you’re calling in one of your favors.”

“One?” Chloe asks.

“She owes me three,” Lucifer answers. He grins at Zatanna. “She likes to treat me like her own personal genie.”

“I know genies,” Zatanna replies. “You’re no genie.”

Chloe frowns. “Wait, genies are real?”

“Everything is real in one way or another, darling,” Lucifer says. He turns his attention back to Zatanna. “Do you consent?”

“Do I have a choice?” Zatanna asks. “I’m in your debt, and you’re here to collect. So what’s the favor?”

“I’m afraid you’ll need some context first.” Lucifer nods at the couches. “May we?”

Zatanna glances over her shoulder at the people sitting on the couches. “Give us a minute.”

They all rise from the couches immediately and head for the spiral staircase. Zatanna motions toward the couches, and Lucifer and Chloe follow her lead. Chloe sits on a couch facing the staircase, and Lucifer lowers himself onto the cushion next to her. He scoots closer to her so that their hips are pressed together, crosses his legs, and then drapes his arm around the back of the couch behind her. Chloe leans toward him. She likes that he hasn’t hesitated to be so casually close to her tonight. It’s one of the few things that she doesn’t want to return to normal. 

“So,” Zatanna says, lowering herself gracefully onto the couch across from them. “What’s up?”

Lucifer glances at Chloe, but she has no desire to explain what they’ve been through. She doesn’t trust herself to get through the story without crying, and she’s not interested in crying in front of a magician she just met while sitting in a club called Deep Throat. 

She gestures at Lucifer to go ahead. He gives her a sympathetic look, and then turns toward Zatanna and launches into an explanation of their night. He starts with Maze in the penthouse and goes from there. Chloe stares at his suit-clad knee while he talks, trying to keep her face impassive while she listens. She can feel Zatanna watching her, but she doesn’t lift her gaze. She just keeps staring at Lucifer’s knee and focusing on her breathing, because reliving everything hurts like hell and breathing is the only thing she can control. 

When Lucifer finally finishes relating the story, his final words hang in the air. Chloe swallows around a lump in her throat. She feels nauseous. Lucifer’s hand curls around the back of her neck all of a sudden, and she glances up at him. He smiles at her, his fingers stroking gently over her skin. She puts her hand on his leg and leaves it there. 

“Well you two have had a hell of a night,” Zatanna says.

Lucifer gives her a look. “Very funny, Zee.”

Zatanna shakes her head. “That’s not what I meant.” She glances at Chloe. “Do you want a drink?” 

“No, thanks.”

“You sure? There’s a bar up here.”

Chloe glances at the bar in the corner of the lounge and the bartender standing behind it at the ready, but she shakes her head. “No, I’m good.” She looks at Lucifer. “Do you…?”

“I’d like to know what we’re dealing with,” he says, looking at Zatanna. 

Chloe blinks at him in surprise. She’s never seen him turn down a drink. Ever.

“Is it magic?” Lucifer prods.

Zatanna sighs. “It’s possible. You said you got no reaction from any of the strangers at CVS?”

“None,” Lucifer replies. “It’s only people we know.”

“No, it’s only people _she_ knows,” Zatanna corrects.

Lucifer frowns. “You wouldn’t be affected by—”

“ _I_ wouldn’t be,” Zatanna cuts him off. “But you went through Jenna in the front right? And I’m guessing you saw some people in the crowd you knew. You knew some of the people sitting up here. Did any of them react badly?”

“Jenna said we were adorable,” Chloe reminds him. 

Lucifer looks like he’s been slapped. “No,” he answers Zatanna quietly.

“Why would it just be me?” Chloe asks.

The magician shrugs. “Probably for the same reason the spell—if it is a spell—makes everyone want to protect you from him. Whoever is doing this really doesn’t want you to be with him. Any idea who that might be?” 

“I have some ideas,” Lucifer says bitterly. “But I need to know what, exactly, I’m dealing with first.”

“Well I won’t know that until I find the subject of the spell,” Zatanna says. “Do you think it’s you two, or everyone else? If it’s you, I can fix it pretty easily and whoever you’re dealing with isn’t much of a threat. But if it’s someone who was powerful enough to cast a spell over everyone else…”

She doesn’t finish, but she doesn’t need to. Lucifer looks grave, just like he did in the car earlier when he said that whatever this is could be dangerous, and Chloe feels fear claw at her chest again. 

“I’ve no idea,” Lucifer says. “But I’d appreciate any light you could shed on the matter.”

Zatanna gets to her feet and walks toward them. She stops in front of Lucifer, holds her hand out so that her palm is a few inches from his forehead, and murmurs something that sounds like gibberish to Chloe. Lucifer doesn’t flinch. Zatanna studies him for a moment, and then lowers her hand. 

“Nothing but the Devil here,” she says with a smile. 

Lucifer doesn’t return her smile. 

Zatanna turns to Chloe and lifts her hand. “Do you mind?”

Chloe glances at her hand. “What are you…?”

“She’s trying to determine if there’s a spell on us,” Lucifer says, reaching for her hand. “She won’t harm you. You have my word.”

Zatanna smiles. “It won’t hurt. I promise.”

Chloe swallows and nods. Zatanna extends her hand toward Chloe’s head, and then murmurs the same words she said before. Chloe expects to feel a shiver or a breeze or something, but she feels nothing. Zatanna studies her, and then her eyebrows furrow. 

“That can’t be right,” she murmurs. 

Lucifer straightens next to Chloe. “What is it?”

Zatanna extends her hand again and murmurs the same words. She searches Chloe’s eyes, and then looks at Lucifer. “You didn’t tell me she’s not human.”

“What?” Chloe demands.

“Oh is that all?” Lucifer says, slumping a little. “You gave me a fright.”

“Wait,” Chloe says. “I _am_ human.”

“No you’re not,” Zatanna says. She nods at Lucifer. “You’ve got the same...well, for lack of a better word, _vibe_ that he does.”

Chloe gives Lucifer a bewildered look, and he squeezes her hand comfortingly.

“She’s fully human, I assure you,” Lucifer tells Zatanna. “What you’re sensing is my father’s touch. She’s a miracle.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“It means, among other things, that she’s immune to me.”

Zatanna stares at him in shock. “You mean if you did that thing where you ask her what she wants…?”

“She’d only tell me if she wanted to,” Lucifer finishes. “And I’d have no idea if it was the truth or not.”

“We don’t lie to each other,” Chloe says. “It’d be the truth.”

Lucifer smiles at her.

“Okay,” Zatanna says, drawing the word out. She gestures between them. “This is starting to make more sense.” And then she grins at Chloe and folds her arms over her chest. “He has no effect on you and you still fell for him?”

Chloe smiles. “He grew on me.” She tilts her head. “Sort of like a fungus.”

“Detective!” Lucifer huffs.

Chloe laughs and leans over to brush her lips over his jaw. “A very handsome fungus,” she murmurs.

Lucifer straightens his jacket with a huff. Chloe smiles at him and coasts her hand along his thigh, and then looks up at Zatanna.

The magician is grinning. “I like you. You don’t put up with his shit.”

“I beg your pardon,” Lucifer says in offense. “I do not have _shit._ ”

Zatanna smirks. “Honey, you’ve got more shit than a sewer. You’re the Devil.”

Chloe shrugs. “I like that about him.”

“You do?” Lucifer asks.

“I do,” Chloe says, meeting his gaze. He looks shocked for a moment, and then a smile spreads slowly over his lips. It’s so wide and pleased that Chloe’s heart flutters.

“All right,” Zatanna says. “I feel like you guys are about to start making out, and I definitely didn’t sign up for that, so can we focus?”

“Sorry,” Chloe says, looking away from Lucifer. “So we’re not under a spell?”

Zatanna shakes her head. “Not that I can tell. Which means someone put a spell on all the people you know.”

“Can you fix it?” Lucifer asks.

“Maybe,” Zatanna says, putting her hands on her hips. “But I need to get a better read on it. Which means I need to talk to someone who’s under it.”

Chloe and Lucifer share a look.

“That might be difficult,” Lucifer says. “As I mentioned, we haven’t exactly had pleasant experiences with our mutual friends this evening.”

“Well is there anyone you haven’t seen yet that you’re sure would be under the spell?”

“I could text Ella,” Chloe suggests to Lucifer. “She’d come here if I asked her to. And I’d be shocked if she wasn’t under the spell.”

Lucifer doesn’t look thrilled by the idea. Honestly, Chloe isn’t either. She doesn’t want to listen to another lie-filled lecture about why Lucifer is bad for her, and she definitely doesn’t want to see the look on Lucifer’s face when Ella accuses him of being evil. But what other choice do they have?

Lucifer nods as if he can read her mind. “I believe that’s our only option,” he says with a sigh. He reaches into his pocket, pulls out her phone, and offers it to her with a smile. “Let’s see how Ms. Lopez feels about deep throating.”

Chloe rolls her eyes as Zatanna snorts in laughter.


	14. Fourteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not to sound like a broken record or anything, but thanks for all the love in my comments guys :)

It’s not hard for Chloe to convince Ella to meet her at the club. 

_Hell yes girl!_ Ella texts her back immediately. _I am so there!_ Her confirmation is followed by a string of emojis that mostly consist of a dancing woman and pink hearts. 

After that, there’s nothing to do but wait. They kill some time talking. Chloe finds out how Zatanna and Lucifer met, which is a _very_ funny story. She also finds out why Zatanna owes Lucifer three favors. The stories of the first two favors are just as amusing as the story about how they met. The third, though, apparently touches a nerve for Zatanna. 

Lucifer seems to recognize that she doesn’t want him to share any details.

“She wanted to protect someone she loves,” he tells Chloe vaguely.

Zatanna’s eyes flash. “Loved. Past tense.”

Lucifer smiles. “I know a lie when I see it, Zee.”

“Drop it, Lucifer.”

Lucifer tilts his head. “Very well.”

Chloe has about a million questions, but she doesn’t ask any of them. It’s none of her business. Zatanna’s friends appear at the top of the stairs, and she rises to greet them without another word. 

Lucifer turns toward Chloe. “I think I’d like to try Amenadiel again. If you have no objections, of course.”

Chloe shrugs. “Go for it.”

“You’ll be okay here?”

Chloe smiles. “I’ve been in clubs before, Lucifer. And I’m a cop. I’ll be fine.”

He doesn’t look convinced. “I suppose Zee won’t let anything happen to you,” he says, more to himself than to her. 

“Overprotective much?” Chloe teases.

“Guardian Devil, remember?” Lucifer replies. And then he bops her on the nose with his index finger and grins because he knows she hates that.

Chloe sighs at him.

“You should go downstairs with Zee and dance,” Lucifer suggests as he gets to his feet. “Have some fun.” And then he frowns. “Just not with any one too handsy, or I’ll have to fly into a jealous rage.”

“You?” Chloe says. “Jealous? _Never._ ”

He gives her a look. She laughs. A smile tugs on his lips, and after giving her a fond once over and then kissing her on the top of the head, he turns away from her and heads toward a nearby door marked _Exit._

When he’s gone, Chloe gets to her feet and wanders over to the railing that outlines the lounge. She looks out over the club. In the distance, the pool is flickering with a purple and blue pattern of lights. Two shirtless guys are carrying a bikini clad woman toward the pool, and when they get to the edge, they toss her in and then fall over each other laughing. The dance floor is filled with a writhing mass of bodies. The music is still quieter up here, but Chloe can feel the beat thrumming through the metal railing beneath her hands. 

It’s much warmer in the club than it was on the beach, so she slips Lucifer’s jacket off and drapes it over the railing next to her. She’s watching a couple in the middle of the dance floor who are gazing into each other’s eyes like they’re the only two people in the world when Zatanna leans against the railing next to her. 

“I’m headed downstairs until your friend gets here,” she says. “I don’t suppose I could convince you to join us?”

Chloe smiles. “No, thank you.”

“Yeah I figured. Hell of a dress you’re wearing, and I’m _really_ jealous of your shoes, but you don’t strike me as the clubbing type.”

“I’m not. It’s more Lucifer’s thing.”

Zatanna arches an eyebrow. “But you guys are together?”

Chloe lifts her shoulder. “Opposites attract, I guess.”

“Maybe. But I don’t think you guys are opposites.”

Chloe looks over at her in surprise. 

Zatanna smiles. “He likes to pretend he doesn’t care about doing the right thing, but it’s all for show. Don’t get me wrong, he’s immature and self-centered and reckless. But he’s not evil. Not even close.”

Chloe smiles. It’s nice to hear someone say something positive about Lucifer. All she’s heard all night is the opposite. 

“You’re right,” she says. “He’s a good man.”

“You’re in love with him.”

It’s more of an observation than a question, but Chloe answers it anyway. “Yeah.”

“And it doesn’t freak you out that he’s the Devil?”

Chloe looks out over the club as she considers the question. “He’s not,” she says at last. “Not to me. He’s just...Lucifer. He’s my best friend. My partner.” She looks at Zatanna. “He’s my soulmate.”

Zatanna studies her. “I’ve never seen anyone look at someone the way he looks at you,” she says quietly. “Like you’re…”

“A miracle?” Chloe suggests. 

Zatanna nods, and then she looks suddenly sad. “When you find something like that, you should hold onto it.”

Chloe wonders if the sadness in Zatanna’s eyes has something to do with whoever it is she claims she doesn’t love anymore, but she doesn’t ask. It’s still none of her business.

“I’m trying,” she says instead. 

Zatanna smiles and puts her hand on Chloe’s arm. “I’ll do whatever I can to help. Favor or not.”

It’s probably just the stress of the last few hours, but Chloe feels like bursting into tears at the gesture of solidarity. “Thank you,” she murmurs. 

Zatanna squeezes her arm, and then turns on her high heel and disappears down the spiral staircase. As soon as she’s gone, the volume of the music in the club returns full force. Chloe jumps in surprise—it’s _really_ loud—and then exhales. 

Now that she’s alone, she can’t ignore the signals her body is sending her. The harsh beginning of a headache is pounding between her eyes. She’s exhausted. Her feet hurt, and her dress is uncomfortable. She wants to be in something soft and oversized and cozy. She wants to go home. She wants to read Trixie a bedtime story and then sleep for a week. 

The thought of Trixie makes her heart twist. Her daughter’s screams at the beach echo in the back of her mind. _You left your kid,_ a familiar voice whispers. _You abandoned her._

Guilt gnaws at Chloe’s chest, sharp and awful. She leans her elbows on the railing and looks out over the club, trying to focus on something else, but she can’t. Everyone on the dance floor beneath her is having the time of their lives. They’re happy and carefree and she’s up here in agony, missing her daughter and drowning in guilt and terrified that whatever’s happened to all the people she loves isn’t fixable. What if it’s permanent? What if there’s nothing Zatanna can do for them? Everyone that she and Lucifer know is—

Her train of thought screeches to a halt. That’s not true, is it? It’s not everyone they know. It’s everyone _she_ knows. Lucifer isn’t the one getting ultimatums. He’s not the one being forced to choose between his soulmate and everyone else he loves. _She’s_ the only one who’s trapped. How is that fair? Why does she have to sacrifice everything and everyone just to be with him? When is it _his_ turn to pay a price?

Except that’s not true either. He already paid a price, and he paid it more than once. She knows that—she _knows_ it—and she knows the deep, dark rabbit hole her brain just tried to take her down is a lie just like everything else that’s happened tonight. Maze tried to kill him. Dan too. Trixie screamed that he was a liar, and Linda told him he wasn’t worthy, and there’s no mistaking the pain in his eyes even though he’s trying to hide it. She’s not the only one who’s suffering. 

He doesn’t deserve this.

* * *

For a moment after the door clicks shut behind him, all Lucifer can do is stand on the fire escape in the chilly night air and breathe. 

He’s not accustomed to feeling this helpless. He’s trying to put on a brave face for the Detective, but it’s more difficult than it used to be. Perhaps she was right when she told him that he’s starting to lower his walls and let her in. Maybe it’s harder for him to pretend with her because he doesn’t _want_ to pretend with her. 

Or maybe it’s more than that. Maybe he feels helpless because for the first time in his very long life, he cares more about someone else than he cares about himself. 

He used to laugh at people who felt like this. He heard the _Iliad_ for the first time and laughed. No one appreciated a beautiful face more than he, but there was no face on earth that would inspire him to launch a thousand ships. He sat in The Theatre when William’s company first performed _Romeo and Juliet_ and scoffed. A beautiful piece of drama, to be sure, but that’s all it was. Drama. Fiction. Love like that didn’t exist. Time and again he listened to ballads and sat in theaters and visited hell loops where he was pummeled repeatedly by the human obsession with love. He scoffed and mocked and rolled his eyes and knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that the Devil would never, _ever_ be so foolish.

And then there was her. His miracle. Those eyes that seemed to stare straight into his soul. That smile that soothed the eternal ache in his chest. The sound of her laugh, and the way she said his name like no one else ever had. 

_Lucifer._

The first night they spent together is burned into his mind. A thousand years from now, he’ll close his eyes and still be able to remember every second of it. The warmth of her skin. The way she tasted. The softness of her hair, and the elegant curve of her hips beneath his hands, and the arch of her body above his, stunningly beautiful in the moonlight. He wore her out and she fell asleep sated and smiling, but he stared at the ceiling long afterward, stroking his fingers through her hair. He knew then, lying there with her breathing quietly in his arms, that there was no coming back from this. No way to undo what she’d done to him. He’d fight a thousand wars for her. Die a thousand deaths. She was—she _is_ everything. The _only_ thing. 

And he’s hurting her. 

_This isn’t your fault,_ she whispers in his mind, but he huffs at the vision of her and she evaporates. He curls his hands around the railing of the fire escape and glares out at the city, clenching his jaw in frustration. He didn’t cast this spell, but it doesn’t matter. It’s magic, and magic belongs on his side of the aisle, not hers. He brought this into her life. He did this to her.

He hurt her.

He closes his eyes. “Brother,” he murmurs. “Amenadiel. Answer me.”

But just like before, there’s nothing. No response. No rush of air as Amenadiel arrives with his wings unfurled. Just...silence. 

Fear wraps around Lucifer’s throat and squeezes. He doesn’t want to think about why his brother might not be answering him, and he doesn’t want to think about what’s going to happen if Zatanna can’t fix this, so he does the only thing he can do. He keeps trying.

He leans forward to rest his elbows on the railing and bends his head in supplication.

“Please,” he whispers. “She doesn’t deserve this.”

* * *

Chloe isn’t sure how long Lucifer is gone.

Time stretches out like it did when she first arrived at the beach. She stands at the railing, looking out over the club and the oblivious revelers dancing their hearts out, and tries not to drown in the hurricane of emotion swirling in her chest. At some point, she starts to wonder if she should get a drink. Maybe it’ll help. Maybe, just for a minute, she can pretend that she and Lucifer are here because they want to be, and they can go back home whenever they want, and no one will hate them for being together. 

She’s lost in a fantasy of things being normal again when she senses someone coming up behind her. She straightens, but a large pair of hands wrap around her wrists before she can turn around. 

“It’s me, love,” Lucifer says in her ear over the roar of the music. 

The sound of his voice makes her relax, and the pet name makes her exhale. She closes her eyes. She’s going to be really disappointed if he ever stops calling her that. 

Lucifer presses into her, and she can feel the buttons of his vest against the bare skin of her back. His thumbs stroke gently over the insides of her wrists, and then she feels his lips brush over her shoulder. His breath is warm, but she shivers anyway.

“No answer from my brother,” he murmurs.

Chloe isn’t disappointed. She didn’t expect there to be. She’s not feeling very hopeful right now. She’s not feeling anything right now. She’s just...numb.

Lucifer lifts his head and nuzzles his nose into her hair. When he inhales deeply, she can feel his chest rise against her shoulder blades. She’s pretty sure he’s smelling her hair, but she’s too tired to tease him about it.

“Are you alright?” he says in her ear.

_No,_ Chloe wants to say. _I’ve never been less alright._ But she’s afraid that admitting it will shred the very tenuous hold she has on her feelings, and she’d rather not collapse into tears in the middle of a club called Deep Throat. 

When she doesn't answer, Lucifer turns her around gently to face him. She glances up at him. He steps closer to her, pushing her gently backward until she feels the smooth edge of the railing press into her back. He lifts his hands and curls his fingers around the railing on either side of her body, and then leans forward so that he’s towering over her and she has to tilt her head back to look at him. Their faces are close. He’s not touching her, but she’s surrounded by him. He searches her gaze, and she can see the request in his eyes even though he doesn’t verbalize it. _Tell me you’re okay._

Chloe drops her gaze from his. She strokes her hands over his vest and swallows. Lucifer bends forward so that his ear is next to her mouth. 

“What if she can’t fix it?” Chloe says in his ear.

He leans back to look at her. She feels immediately guilty because she knows _he_ feels guilty—it’s written all over his face. 

“Then I will,” Lucifer tells her. She knows he’s nearly shouting over the music, but his voice is a low hum against the bass. “I’ll fix this for you, Detective. You have my word.”

There’s ironclad determination in his voice, and Chloe’s heart aches in her chest because she knows he means it. He’ll do whatever it takes. He always does. 

The music in the club is building toward a crescendo. _Would you believe me if I said we are here for a reason?_ a voice sings over a techno beat. _This is our life, this is what counts, this is for us._

Lucifer lifts a hand to her face and strokes his thumb over her cheek. Chloe tilts her head into his palm. 

_I will go anywhere for you,_ the singer croons. _I will go anywhere for you._

Chloe slides her hand up Lucifer’s chest to the back of his neck and pulls his face down to kiss him. If he’s surprised, he doesn’t act like it. He doesn’t hesitate to kiss her back. Chloe threads her fingers through the hair on the nape of his neck, and he slides his arms around her waist, and they sink into the kiss. It isn’t the best time, maybe, to get lost in each other. But Chloe doesn’t care. She needs this. _They_ need this. 

She’s almost forgotten—almost—that her whole world has gone to hell when the volume of the music drops abruptly. She pulls back from Lucifer, surprised by the sudden quiet, and turns to see Zatanna standing at the top of the stairs. Lucifer loosens his arms from around Chloe’s waist, and she drops her hands to her sides.

“Sorry, guys,” Zatanna says. “But your friend is here.”

She steps aside. A moment later Ella climbs the last stair and steps into the lounge. She looks confused, but her entire face lights up when she sees Chloe. 

“Chloe!” she squeals. 

She scurries forward and throws herself at Chloe for a hug. She squeezes hard, and Chloe wraps her arms around Ella and squeezes back. She’s never needed an Ella hug more than she does right now.

“Hey Ella,” she says.

“Hey yourself!” Ella says brightly. She leans back and makes a show of looking Chloe up and down. “ _Damn,_ Decker. This dress is killer. And look at those _heels!_ I bet you’ve had guys all over you tonight, huh? Girls too! I mean, shoot, I kind of want to kiss you myself. Haha, I’m just kidding. Or am I?” 

Ella wiggles her eyebrows suggestively, and Chloe laughs. “You look good too, Ella.”

“You think so?” Ella says, holding her arms out. “I wasn’t sure about the sequins.”

“You look great,” Chloe says. “Really.”

Ella grins. “Thanks. You know, I have to say, when you told me to meet you at a club called Deep Throat, I kind of…” She trails off because she’s finally noticed Lucifer. The smile drops off her face immediately.

“Good evening, Ms. Lopez,” Lucifer says politely. 

“Lucifer,” Ella greets in an uncharacteristically cold voice. “I didn’t know you’d be here.”

Zatanna materializes behind Ella and mouths _keep talking_ as she makes a circular motion with her hands. 

Chloe clears her throat. “I figured it went without saying,” she says, refocusing on Ella. “You know, because we’re together now.” She reaches her hand out to Lucifer, and he weaves his fingers through hers and steps up next to her.

“Yeah,” Ella says, glancing down at their hands with a frown. “About that.” She leans toward Chloe. “Can I talk to you for a second? In private?”

Chloe glances at Zatanna, who shakes her head. 

“No,” Chloe says. “Whatever you have to say to me, you can say in front of Lucifer.”

Ella frowns. “Please?”

“No.”

Ella’s frown deepens. She glances at Lucifer, and then back at Chloe, and then straightens. 

“All right. Fine. I think this,” she gestures between Lucifer and Chloe, “is a bad idea. Like, _really_ bad. _Catastrophically_ bad. Almost as bad as when I had a charity bake sale in the lobby of my apartment complex to raise money for the polar bears.”

“Why on earth would you do that?” Lucifer asks incredulously.

Ella glares at him. “Because some of us care about other stuff more than we care about ourselves.” 

Behind Ella, Zatanna lifts her hand so that it’s hovering a few inches behind Ella’s head. Chloe sees her mouth move, but she can’t hear anything. 

“I don’t understand,” Chloe says to Ella, trying to play dumb and stretch the argument out to give Zatanna time. “Why is this a bad idea?”

“You’re joking, right?” Ella says. “He thinks he’s the Devil, Decker. Like, _literally_ thinks that. Even the most method actor would have broken character by now. But not Lucifer. You know why? Because he’s loco and he thinks it’s all _real._ ”

“You’re a woman of faith, Ms. Lopez,” Lucifer says. “You also believe it’s real.”

“Nu uh, no way el Diablo,” Ella says, wagging her finger at him. “We are _not_ the same. You don’t see me walking around claiming to be the Virgin Mary.” 

“Perhaps because you’re not the Virgin Mary,” Lucifer says dryly. 

Ella glares at him and then turns back to Chloe. “Chloe, come on. You’re smart. You’re, like, the best cop I know. You’re great at reading people. And I know he’s charming and rich and sexy and all that—”

“Oh, please, do go on,” Lucifer murmurs with a smirk.

“But he’s a walking red flag,” Ella finishes with a glare. “And I would know, because I specialize in red flags. I just recently broke up with one.”

“Surely you’re not suggesting I’m in the same league as your ex the serial killer?” Lucifer says. 

“I have no evidence that you kill people,” Ella replies, ever the scientist. She lifts her chin defiantly. “But I’ve got plenty of evidence that says you’re not boyfriend material for my girl.”

“You don’t mean that,” Chloe says, shaking her head. “You’ve been rooting for us since day one—”

“He’s slept with half the population of L.A.!” Ella cuts her off.

“Who cares?” Chloe challenges. “If he’s not sleeping with other people when he’s sleeping with me then it doesn’t matter.”

“Look, I’m not judging,” Ella says, holding her hands out. “If he wants to sleep with anything that breathes, that’s his business. But is this really the best you think you can do? Come _on,_ girl. He has left you hanging so many times, including his recent months-long sabbatical, and he’s going to do it again.”

“I don’t believe that.”

“Yes you do,” Ella insists. “You know he’s not good for you. You’ve _told_ me that. You told me he’s the reason you said yes to Pierce. You told me that he pisses you off all the time, and that there are a ton of things about him that are too hard for you to accept.”

Chloe glances up at Lucifer. He’s trying to keep his face impassive, but it’s impossible not to see the hurt in his eyes. Guilt wraps around her throat and squeezes. 

“That was a long time ago,” she says, forcing herself to look at Ella again. “Things are different now.”

“Why?” Ella demands. “Because you guys are getting naked now? Listen, Decker, I get it. Sex is great. I’m sure the dude who has slept with half of L.A. knows some really great tricks. But just because he’s good at the horizontal hula doesn’t mean he’s good at relationships.”

“Ella,” Chloe starts.

“You’re too good for him, Chloe,” Ella interrupts firmly. “He doesn’t deserve you.”

Lucifer stiffens at the words, and Chloe winces, and Ella doesn’t look even a little bit sorry. 

“Okay,” Zatanna says. “That’s enough of that.” 

She flicks her hand and mumbles some gibberish, and Ella’s eyes roll back into her head and her knees buckle. She collapses onto the floor in a heap. 

“Ella,” Chloe breathes, lunging forward to crouch next to her. She looks up at Zatanna. “What did you do?”

“She’s fine,” Zatanna answers. “Just taking a nap.” 

Chloe presses her fingers against Ella’s neck, and feels the unmistakably strong beat of a pulse. Her breathing is steady. She seems fine, other than the fact that she’s out cold. Chloe brushes Ella’s hair back from her face, mutters an apology under her breath, and then straightens.

Zatanna glances between Chloe and Lucifer. “You guys weren’t kidding,” she says softly. “That’s some awful shit she just said considering she’s your friend.”

“Wasn’t the worst we’ve heard this evening,” Lucifer mutters. 

Chloe turns toward him. “Lucifer—”

“No need, Detective,” he says, lifting his hand. “It’s quite alright.”

“It’s _not_ alright,” Chloe says. “Nothing about this is alright.” She steps closer to him. “It was before,” she says quietly. “Before we were together, before you went back to Hell. Things were different.”

“I know, darling.” 

She steps even closer, and tilts her head back to look at him. “Do you?”

He gazes down at her. For a second, she can see it all on his face. How hard this is for him, and how much he’s struggling, and how desperately he wants to believe her. But then he smiles, and she can’t see it anymore.

“You needn’t worry,” he says, touching her arm. “It’s nothing I can’t handle.”

That’s not an answer. Chloe wants to call him on it, but he shifts his gaze to Zatanna before she can.

“Well?” he says. “What’s the verdict?”

Chloe turns to look at the magician, and immediately wishes she hadn’t. Zatanna looks grave. 

“It’s magic,” she says. “But not like mine. I’ve never seen anything like this up close. Her entire perception of reality has shifted. Her memories, her feelings, everything, all of it has been touched by whatever this is. It’s…”

“It’s what, Zee?” Lucifer presses when she doesn’t finish.

Zatanna exhales heavily. “This is ancient magic, Lucifer.”

“How ancient?”

“Let’s just say whoever cast this spell was probably around when your dad was trying to decide what to do with the primordial ooze.”

The color drains from Lucifer’s face. 

“What does that mean?” Chloe asks, glancing between them.

Zatanna meets her gaze apologetically. “I can’t fix it, Chloe. I’m sorry.”

Chloe’s heart shoots into her throat. This is exactly what she was afraid of. Now that it’s a reality, she’s finding it hard to breathe. What the hell are they supposed to do now?

“I’m calling in another favor,” Lucifer says, his voice hard.

Zatanna shakes her head. “You don’t need to, Lucifer. If I could help, I would. But I—”

“I want you to summon John.”

Zatanna stops talking abruptly. She stares at Lucifer, and he stares back. Chloe has a feeling they’re having an entire conversation without saying a word, but she doesn’t dare say anything.

“I know who did this,” Lucifer says eventually. “But I need confirmation and some information, and John is the only one who can provide both. Summon him.”

Zatanna’s expression hardens. “I can’t.”

“You can, and you will.”

“You’re celestial, Lucifer. You don’t need my help. You can find him yourself.”

“Not as quickly or as easily as you can. I’ve no idea which earth he’s even on at the moment, and I don’t have time to travel to them all and go in search of him.”

Chloe chokes on her breath. Which _earth?_ There’s more than one? How many are there? 

“I can’t help you,” Zatanna repeats. “We haven’t spoken in months. I don’t know where he is.”

“That’s a lie,” Lucifer accuses. “The two of you are incapable of not keeping track of each other. He knows you’re here, just as you know where he is, and you’re going to summon him for me.”

“I’m not the only magician you know, Lucifer. Find someone else to summon him for you.”

“You’re the only person he’ll come running for with no questions asked. You know that. You’re the best option I have.”

Zatanna folds her arms over her chest. “And if I refuse?”

Lucifer’s eyes flare red. “I don’t believe that’s an option, Zatanna.”

Zatanna clenches her jaw, and Chloe is suddenly afraid that she’s about to find out what happens when an angel fights a magician. 

She steps between them before it can come to that. Zatanna looks at her. 

“You said you’d help,” Chloe reminds her. 

Zatanna’s expression softens slightly. She shakes her head. “Chloe…”

“Please,” Chloe murmurs. She told herself she wouldn’t cry in this club, but her eyes feel warm and her throat is tight. “I need my kid back. I need my life back.”

Zatanna looks torn. She glances at Lucifer, and then down at Ella’s unconscious form on the floor, and then back at Chloe. 

“Fine,” she says at last. She brandishes her finger at Lucifer. “But we’re even after this. I owe you nothing.”

“Deal,” Lucifer says without a moment’s hesitation. 

Zatanna sighs. “Give me a minute.”

She holds her hands out in front of her body, palms upward, and then closes her eyes and tips her head back. Before she can say or do anything else, though, one of her friends appears at the top of the stairs. He seems out of breath.

“Zee,” he calls, his voice sharp. “We have a problem.”

Zatanna frowns at him. “What do you mean?”

“There are cops at the front entrance.” He tips his head toward Chloe and Lucifer. “They’re asking about your friends. They’ve got a picture of them.”

Chloe’s stomach drops. Lucifer materializes by her side, his chest pressing against her shoulder. “Ms. Lopez played us for a fool.”

“Or they tracked Dan’s cruiser,” Chloe says. 

She crosses the lounge to stand at the railing and look out over the club toward the entrance. A moment later, the black curtains fly open and a dozen cops in tactical gear stream into the club. 

Zatanna appears at her side. “I can handle them. You guys go out the back exit.”

“And John?” Lucifer asks.

Zatanna gives him a look over her shoulder. “He’ll know how to find you. And if you’re smart, it’ll be somewhere outside the reach of the LAPD.”

“Zatanna—”

“You’re not the only one who knows how to keep your word, Lucifer,” Zatanna cuts him off. “I said I’d summon him. I will.” She looks at Chloe. “Go. Now.”

Chloe squeezes her arm. “Thank you,” she murmurs. 

Zatanna offers her a quick smile, and then she holds her hands out toward the dance floor and starts to chant words that sound completely foreign. Chloe wants to linger and see what, exactly, Zatanna means by _I can handle them,_ but she knows she can’t. 

“Detective,” Lucifer calls. 

Chloe turns on her heel and heads toward him. He grabs her hand, and they stride together toward the exit he disappeared through earlier. 

Lucifer shoves the door open with a bang. Chloe follows him out onto the metal landing of a fire escape. They wind their way down several flights, their feet clanking on the metal. When they get to the final landing, Lucifer yanks on the ladder and it drops toward the ground with a clang. He starts the descent down to the ground and Chloe follows him. 

When Lucifer gets to the ground, he reaches up and grabs her hips. “Let go,” he commands. 

She lets go of the ladder, and her body lowers gently toward the ground in Lucifer’s grip. He grabs her hand once her feet are on the pavement, and they take off down a narrow alleyway. 

They’re ten yards or so from the end of the alley when half a dozen cops round the corner in full tactical gear. Chloe skids to a stop, reaches out to grab Lucifer’s arm to steady herself, and then they turn in unison and sprint the other way. 

“LAPD!” one of the cops behind them shouts. “Freeze!”

“Did they send half the bloody force?” Lucifer huffs. 

“It doesn’t make sense,” Chloe says, glancing over her shoulder at her colleagues who are now chasing after them. “We don’t send this many officers out for a domestic dispute.”

“I’ve a feeling we’ve moved past domestic dispute,” Lucifer says dryly. “Left up here.” 

They reach the other end of the alley and veer to the left, but immediately run into a second group of cops. Lucifer plows through the two officers he runs into, but Chloe bounces off the chest of a third and Lucifer’s hand is ripped from hers. 

The cop she ran into wraps his fingers around her arms to steady her, but then he glances down at her face and his eyes widen. “It’s her!” he shouts. 

Chloe shoves him hard in the chest. He stumbles a few steps away from her. She lunges toward Lucifer, but someone grabs her from behind and yanks her backward. She tries to twist free, but another pair of hands wrap around her arms and tug them behind her back.

“Stop resisting, Decker,” someone says in her ear. “You’re outnumbered.”

She hears the unmistakable sound of handcuffs and then feels cold metal snap around her wrists.

“Get your hands off her!” Lucifer snarls.

He sounds furious. Chloe glances in his direction. The two cops he bowled over are getting to their feet and blocking his path to her. Lucifer punches the first one who steps forward, and Chloe is pretty sure the officer is unconscious before he even hits the pavement. Lucifer grabs the second by his tactical gear and tosses him against the warehouse like a frisbee. He hits the bricks with a smack and lands in a heap on the ground. 

Lucifer strides toward Chloe. The look on his face is murderous, but he gets intercepted by the group of cops who were chasing them before he can reach her. They swarm him, grabbing at his arms and his shoulders and his waist like hungry piranhas. Chloe struggles to move toward him, trying desperately to pull free, but she can’t. There are at least three sets of hands on her now, and her own hands are cuffed behind her back.

“Get her down,” someone says. Something smacks into the back of Chloe’s legs and they buckle. She slams down onto the pavement on her knees. 

“We’ve got them on the back side,” another voice reports. “All units converge. We need backup.”

Chloe tries to get to her feet, but the cops behind her are pushing on her hard, trying to force her to lie face down on the pavement. 

“Lucifer,” she calls, struggling to stay upright. 

Lucifer looks up from the middle of the crowd of cops trying to take him down. Their eyes meet. 

“Detective,” he breathes. The desperation that’s clear in his eyes creeps into his voice. 

Chloe isn’t sure what, exactly, happens after that. One second she’s struggling not to get body slammed onto the concrete, watching as half a dozen cops hang and tug and yank on Lucifer. The next second Lucifer roars, shoots his arms out wide and rears back, and light seems to _explode_ out of him. 

It’s as if the sun itself has suddenly appeared five feet in front of Chloe. It’s so bright that she has to close her eyes and turn her face away. A gust of hot air rushes past her like a gale force wind. She chokes as it sucks all the breath out of her lungs.

When the rush of air dissipates, she opens her eyes. All the cops who were struggling to contain Lucifer only seconds before are now sprawled on the pavement at his feet, completely still. Lucifer is towering above them, and he’s…

He’s _glowing._

It is simultaneously the most beautiful and terrifying thing Chloe has ever seen. Her heart feels like it’s going to beat straight out of her chest. Lucifer’s eyes aren’t the brown she’s accustomed to or the red she’s seen flickers of, but are twin flames instead. Flames appear to be licking along the edges of his body too, though he doesn’t seem to be burning and neither are his clothes. His body is luminous, a bright and brilliant contrast to the black nighttime sky. The only description Chloe’s stuttering brain can seem to conjure up is that he looks like an avenging angel. 

He acts like one too. He strides toward her, lifting his hands as he moves, and what appears to be a beam of light shoots from his palm and slams into the chest of the cop to Chloe’s right. The cop goes flying backward with a scream. Lucifer dispatches the officer to her left the same way, and then he bends over her and reaches down to grab two more cops by their vests. He hauls them into the air, snarls in their faces, and then flings them in opposite directions as if they weigh nothing. 

He turns in a half circle, scanning the area for more threats, but there are none. His hands are in fists. He’s on fire. 

Holy shit, he’s _on fire_.

Chloe stares up at him from her position on her knees, her mouth open wide. She thinks she’s forgotten how to breathe. Her brain is short circuiting. What the _hell_ is _happening_ right now?

Lucifer glances down at her. His eyes are still flickering flames, and his body is glowing so brightly that it’s making her eyes water. He doesn’t seem to recognize her.

“Lucifer,” she whispers. 

And just like that, it’s over. The flames on his body evaporate. His eyes go back to the same deep brown she’s always known. Whatever seemed to be lighting up his body from the inside out extinguishes. He’s not an avenging angel anymore. He’s just...Lucifer. 

“Detective,” he breathes. He drops to a crouch in front of her and lifts his hands to her face. She flinches a little, the flames still fresh in her mind, but his skin is no warmer than it always is. 

“Are you hurt?” he murmurs.

She shakes her head. She can’t seem to find any words. It’s like the ability to formulate a coherent thought has completely deserted her. She can’t...she doesn’t…

“What the hell was _that?_ ” she blurts out. 

“I...don’t know,” Lucifer murmurs. He drops his hands from her face and stares down at them in what appears to be confusion, turning them over to glance at his knuckles before rotating them back to study his palms.

“You don’t _know?_ ” Chloe demands. “You mean you’ve never done that before?”

He shakes his head. “Never.”

“Lucifer, you were...you were on _fire._ ”

He looks up at her with a frown. “I was?”

“Yes. And you have laser beam hands!”

His frown deepens. “I beg your pardon?”

“Laser beam hands,” she repeats. She sounds a little hysterical, but he just shot _light_ out of his damn _hands._ What else is she supposed to sound like? “You have laser beam hands!”

His frown turns into something disapproving. “I don’t have laser beam hands, Detective.”

“You shot light beams out of your hands. What the hell would _you_ call it?”

He opens his mouth, but shuts it again. Sirens wail in the distance, and Chloe suddenly remembers where they are and what’s happening. They’ll have to discuss this later.

She struggles to get to her feet, which is a little harder than usual since her hands are handcuffed behind her back. Lucifer helps her, his fingers curling around her elbows. 

“I need to get out of these cuffs before we go,” she tells him. “We just need to...what are you doing?” 

“Hold still,” Lucifer says as he walks behind her.

She feels his fingers sliding over her wrists, and then she hears a faint snap, followed by another identical snap. The metal against her skin slips away. She pulls her arms forward, and stares down at her now bare wrists in surprise. 

She turns toward Lucifer, and finds him holding the handcuffs by the middle chain. Or, well, he’s holding what _used_ to be handcuffs. They’re useless now. He snapped both of the cuffs clean in half. 

She stares at the broken metal in his hands. “Did you just…?”

“Indeed.”

She remembers the first time she put him in cuffs and how easily he got out of them without snapping anything in half. She glances up at him. “Can’t you get them off without breaking them?”

“Of course I can, darling,” he says, puffing out his chest a little. “I was making a statement. No one puts you in handcuffs but me.” 

Chloe rolls her eyes. “I never agreed to that.”

He smirks. “But you’ve thought about it. I know you have. Though I’ve a feeling your fantasies involve _you_ handcuffing _me_ rather than the alternative.”

“We are _not_ talking about this right now,” Chloe says, brandishing her finger at him. “Let’s go.”

He holds his arm out. “After you, Detective.”

She strides past him with another eye roll. She doesn’t have to look at him over her shoulder to know that he’s staring at her ass. They’re being chased by her colleagues, everyone they care about is infected with ancient magic, they have no plan for how to fix any of it, and he’s still taking the time to stare at her ass. 

The temptation to turn the tables on him is too strong to ignore.

“Is it better in this dress than it is in jeans?” she asks when he falls in step next to her.

Lucifer frowns down at her. “Excuse me?”

“My ass,” she clarifies. 

He blinks in surprise, but only for a second. He grins. “I’m afraid I’ll need more time to study the terrain, Detective. Such decisions call for careful consideration.”

Chloe rolls her eyes yet again but can’t help a smile. They get out of the alley and onto the sidewalk, and Chloe immediately starts scanning for an escape route. She knows one of the cops called for backup before Lucifer spontaneously combusted, so they don’t have much time. They need to get out of here, and she can’t run very far in these heels, so they need a getaway car. 

In the distance, an engine revs. Chloe turns her head and spots a motorcycle racing toward them. The rider is wearing black leather and a matte black helmet, and he’s hunched over the handlebars and driving way faster than he should be. His bike is a brilliant shade of red, and Chloe can tell by the purr of the engine that it’s expensive. 

_Yeah, that’ll do,_ she thinks. 

She dashes out into the road to intercept him. 

“Detective,” Lucifer calls after her in surprise. 

Chloe ignores him. She stops in the middle of the road and waves her hands frantically. The roar of the engine gets louder as the motorcycle gets closer. For a second, Chloe thinks the motorcyclist isn’t going to stop. But then he slows down, and he rolls to a stop about a foot away from her. 

He flicks the visor on his helmet up. He’s younger than Chloe expected, and his eyes are very, very green. He frowns at her. “Are you okay?”

“LAPD,” Chloe tells him. “I need your bike.”

He looks her up and down with raised eyebrows. “I didn’t know cops wore dresses like that.”

Chloe sighs. She is _so_ sick of people commenting on her dress. She’s going to burn it as soon as she takes it off. She never wants to see it again.

“Well we do,” she snaps. “Now get off the damn bike.”

The guy scoffs. “Yeah right lady. Get your own bike.”

He reaches up to snap his visor back down, but he doesn’t get the chance. Lucifer suddenly appears next to him, grabs a fistful of his leather jacket, and plucks him straight off his bike. The motorcycle crashes onto its side in the road as Lucifer lifts the man high in the air. 

“Now that’s not very polite, is it?” Lucifer says, frowning up at his prisoner. “When a lady asks for something, you should give it to her. Especially when it’s this lady.”

“What the hell, man?!” the guy says, flailing in Lucifer’s grip. “Put me down!”

“As you wish,” Lucifer says dryly. He flings the motorcyclist down the street the same way someone might throw a garbage bag into a dumpster, and the guy lands in a leather-clad heap about twenty yards away. 

“If you’d like to file a formal complaint, my name is Detective Daniel Espinoza,” Lucifer calls out. 

Chloe snorts. She bends forward and grabs the bike, pulling it upright again, and then she swings her leg up and over so that she’s sitting astride the seat. She glances at the dials as she adjusts her grip on the handlebars, trying to quickly memorize where everything is. It’s not the first motorcycle she’s driven, but it’s been a while. Hopefully she remembers enough.

When she glances up at Lucifer to ask him why he’s just standing there like an idiot when they need to go, she finds him staring at her with his mouth open. He’s got that look on his face. Not the _I-found-water-in-the-desert_ look she loves, but the other one. The _I’m-going-to-rip-your-clothes-off-and-make-you-come-so-many-times-you’ll-forget-your-own-name_ look.

He tilts his head. “Well I just discovered a new fantasy,” he says with a smirk. 

“We don’t have time for this,” Chloe tells him. “Let’s go. Get on.” 

He frowns. “You mean behind you?”

“Yeah.”

“No.”

“What do you mean _no?_ Since when do you have a problem with being behind me?”

He grins. “I’m not the only one who enjoys that particular position.” Chloe feels her face flush. “But I can’t possibly ride behind you on a motorcycle, Detective. You’ll have to let me drive.”

“What? Why?”

“Well I can’t cling to you like a Prada-clad barnacle while you drive us to safety,” he says, gesturing at the motorcycle. “I have a reputation to maintain. I’m the Devil. I don’t _cling._ People cling to _me._ ”

“For god’s sake,” Chloe sighs.

Lucifer frowns. “Dad has nothing to do with this.”

The sound of wailing sirens goes from distant to deafening as four cop cars skid around the corner behind them and start to race in their direction. 

Chloe glances over her shoulder at them and then narrows her eyes at her boyfriend. “You better get your ass on this bike right now, Lucifer, because I swear to your dad if we get caught because of your stupid man ego I _will_ kill you.”

Lucifer blinks at her for a moment in surprise, and then he climbs obediently onto the back of the bike. His chest presses against her back and his arms wrap around her waist. He’s warm. Not surprising, considering he was on fire not long ago.

Chloe smirks as she revs the engine to life. “Good Devil.”

“Oh, I am going to do _unspeakable_ things to you when we’re finally alone,” Lucifer mutters in her ear. 

Chloe laughs and then flicks her wrist and sends the motorcycle shooting forward into the night. 

The four cop cars follow. The sirens are almost deafening, and when Chloe glances in the rearview mirror she can see the blinding flash of blue and red behind them. She leans forward on the bike and accelerates. 

They get out to Central Avenue, and Chloe hangs a left in front of an oncoming SUV that slams on its brakes and narrowly misses hitting them. The driver slams his palm on the horn, and the sound slices through the night over the squeal of the motorcycle’s tires skidding. Chloe straightens the bike and then whips it onto the right side of the street. She weaves through a pair of sedans and cuts one of them off and then glances at the mirror. All the cruisers made it through the turn and are in hot pursuit. She waits a few seconds until they’re gaining on her, and then yanks the handlebars into another hard left turn. The motorcycle darts in front of oncoming traffic and down another side street. A moment later, tires squeal and there’s a deafening crash. 

“Lost one,” Lucifer reports in her ear a second later. 

“Three now, yeah?” she asks. 

“Five,” he replies. “We seem to have picked up a few.”

Chloe curses under her breath and speeds up. She takes another right at a motorsports store, blowing through a stop sign in the process, and then guns it so the speedometer starts climbing fast. 

“You just ran a stop sign,” Lucifer says in disbelief. “I’ve never been so turned on in my life.”

Chloe laughs. The bike’s speedometer is still climbing as she weaves between slower traffic. There’s a parking lot up ahead on her right, and an idea suddenly strikes her. She darts into the right lane and jumps the curb. Lucifer’s arms tighten around her. She steers into the parking lot, and then whips the bike in a tight circle until they’ve done a complete 180 and are now racing _toward_ the cops who are chasing them. 

The cops slam on their brakes, tires squealing and cars rocking with movement as they screech to a halt. Chloe can see one of them staring open mouthed at her from the driver’s seat. She grins at him as she guides the motorcycle between his cruiser and another, around a third, and then tears back out into the street.

Lucifer whoops behind her. “Well _done,_ Detective.”

Chloe’s grin widens. Adrenaline is roaring through her veins. She merges the bike into traffic and then accelerates quickly, whipping around a delivery truck. She glances in her mirror and sees lights. 

Lucifer says in her ear, “Just two now.”

“I can lose them,” Chloe replies. She takes a left at the motorsports store she passed earlier, and then leans forward over the handlebars and guns it. The speedometer starts to climb again, and by the time she takes a left onto Central, she’s going so fast she nearly loses control of the bike. Lucifer’s left leg shoots outward, and he kicks off the pavement and straightens them out. 

Chloe lays off the accelerator, her heart shooting into her throat. They could’ve crashed because of her recklessness. They don't even have _helmets_ on. What the hell is she—

“It’s all right, Detective,” Lucifer murmurs in her ear as if he can read her mind. “I’ve got you. Drive.”

Chloe swallows around the fear in her throat and accelerates again. They roar down Central until she takes another left. The two cruisers follow her. She glances in her rearview mirror at them. She was the best evasive driver in her class at the academy. If she drives smart and fast enough, she can probably lose them in the maze of side streets without getting her and Lucifer killed. 

She whips the bike through the side streets like her life depends on it. Lucifer only has to catch them once more. Chloe comes close, but every time she loses one cruiser, another appears as if out of nowhere. There are too many of them to shake. They’re outnumbered. 

And then the helicopter shows up. 

The whirring sound of helicopter blades drowns out the noise of skidding tires and wailing sirens. A spotlight shines down on them. 

“This is the LAPD,” a voice shouts through a megaphone. “Pull the bike over and surrender peacefully. We have you surrounded.”

Chloe ignores the command and turns left onto Central. She weaves in and out of traffic, narrowly avoiding a collision with a pickup truck. The spotlight follows her every move. The cruisers are still hot on their heels. 

“I have an idea,” Lucifer says in her ear. 

Chloe cuts off a Buick and gets an earful of car horn. 

“Turn right up here,” Lucifer says, pointing at the street up ahead. “Head for the bridge.”

Chloe slows the bike just enough to make the right turn onto 7th Street, and then accelerates again. “Where are we going?” she shouts at Lucifer over the roar of the engine.

“Do you trust me?”

Chloe frowns. That’s not an answer and it doesn’t give her much confidence in his plan, but she answers his question truthfully. “Yes.”

“When you get to the middle of the bridge, I want you to crash into the parapet.”

“You want me to do _what?_ ”

They’re closing in on the middle of the bridge. Lucifer’s arms tighten around her. “Do you trust me or not?”

“Lucifer—”

“Yes or no, Detective.”

Chloe clenches her jaw. The wind is whipping through her hair and it’s cold as hell on her skin. There are at least five cop cars behind them and the helicopter is still overhead. Lucifer is warm and solid behind her, and his arms are like a vise around her body. 

“Now or never,” he says in her ear. 

Chloe takes a deep breath and then yanks the handlebars to the left. They cut across traffic and pass through the headlights of an oncoming delivery truck. Chloe tries to jump the curb, but she doesn’t quite make it. The front tire slams into the concrete. The bike starts to flip, and her body goes airborne above the handlebars. 

She can see the cement parapet looming beneath her. She’s going to land on it. She’s going to crack her head open and break her neck and shatter every bone in her body. This will kill her. There’s no way it won’t kill her.

She’s never going to see Trixie again. 

And then, just as she’s closing her eyes and sucking in a breath to prepare for impact, her body is forcibly twisted in midair. Lucifer’s arm is suddenly sliding beneath her knees, and his other arm is wrapping around her shoulders, and he’s holding her just like he did when he carried her out of that burning restaurant what seems like ages ago. This time, though, there are no flames. 

There’s just air.


	15. Fifteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew. Y’all, I am not going to lie, I am a little overwhelmed by all the comments I got on the previous chapter. Listen, let me tell you something you probably already know but might need to be reminded of: Writing is really hard and very personal, and sharing what you’ve written can be downright terrifying. This fic encompasses all those things for me. But y’all have been very, very kind, and I am very, very appreciative. Whether you comment or kudos or just like to lurk in the background and shake your fist at the sky over all my angst (yes, yes, I know it hurts), I appreciate you. 
> 
> I like to keep my author’s notes short, usually, but I want to share some things with y’all because you’ve been so lovely. Imma just bullet point list them out for you: 
> 
> -If you’re worried I’m going to stop updating every Tuesday, don’t be. The entirety of this story is already plotted. Most of it is already written. (It’s the revisions that make it necessary to wait a week before posting. Revisions are hard, and ya girl is a perfectionist.) This is not my first long fic, and I don’t leave things unfinished. Like, I am physically incapable of not finishing what I start. So don’t worry. I gotchu.
> 
> -I promised you fluff, angst, and Deckerstar in the summary. You’re going to keep getting all that, though each chapter will have varying degrees of each. If you’re feeling angsty about the angst just...hold on. That’s all I’ll say. Though I should also warn you that we’re not even close to being done. So...do with that what you will. 
> 
> -Laser beam hands are going to become a ~thing, so I’m glad y’all liked them. 
> 
> -I am going to try to respond to a few comments every chapter. When I wrote my last long fic (under a different pen name, for a different fandom), I responded to comments all the time because I had waaaaay fewer of them. And it was really, really fun to more or less exchange essays with people about the characters and the plot and all that. But the Lucifer fandom seems to be very active, and there are a lot more of you, and as much as I’d love to, I just can’t write y’all essays *and* keep my schedule. So I’ll try to respond to a few but don’t be offended if it’s not you and don’t be mad if it’s not every week. Imma do my best.
> 
> K, that’s all. Love you boos.

Chloe is no stranger to the sensation of flying.

She’s been on airplanes. She’s been in helicopters. She went paragliding with Jed once. Trixie begged to go ziplining the last time they went camping, and Dan hates stuff like that, so Chloe took her. 

None of that even remotely compares to flying with an angel for the first time. 

Well, okay, it’s not the _first_ time. She knows that after Pierce’s goon shot her in the chest, Lucifer flew her up to the roof. But she doesn’t remember that, so it doesn’t count. And okay, fine, Michael briefly flew her above a car a few weeks ago. But it happened so fast she doesn’t really remember that either, and even if she did she wouldn’t count it, because it was Michael and Michael is a dick. 

This, though—this counts. 

It takes a few seconds for it to sink in. She turns her head and sees the glittering L.A. skyline in the distance, and then her gaze trips downward and she sees the bridge below them. The police cruisers are parked around the bike, and the cops themselves appear to be staring over the edge of the parapet. They must think the collision sent her and Lucifer over the side of the bridge and down to the concrete below. 

Except they didn’t go over the side of the bridge. They went up. They’re two hundred feet in the air, and his wings are making a soft _fwap fwap fwap_ sound, and _holy fucking shit they’re flying._

A strangled cry rips out of Chloe’s throat. She flings her arms around Lucifer’s neck, curls inward, and buries her face in his chest. 

“Detective?” Lucifer says, his voice tinged with concern.

“Oh my god,” Chloe mutters, clinging to him. “Oh my _god_ we’re _flying_ right now.”

She feels a laugh rumble through his chest. “My father isn’t the one preventing you from falling hundreds of feet to your death, darling. Might I suggest _Oh my Devil_ instead?”

Chloe punches him in his chest but doesn’t lift her head. “This isn’t funny, Lucifer.”

“It’s a little funny,” he says, and she can hear the smirk in his voice. “I had no idea you were afraid of heights.”

“I’m _not._ ”

“Then why is your face currently buried in my Prada suit instead of enjoying the view?”

He has a point. Chloe takes a deep breath, and then pulls her head back just far enough to glance up at him. 

His hair is flying loose in the wind. There’s a broad and brilliant smile on his lips, and his eyes are bright with joy. He looks so happy it steals the breath out of her lungs. He looks down at her, and the joy in his eyes doesn’t dim. If anything, it seems brighter. 

“My face is a sight to behold,” Lucifer says, his smile softening into something affectionate. “But I meant the city.”

He nods into the distance, and Chloe follows his gaze. 

The skyline is brilliant against the black sky. The highway snakes past the towers of downtown, littered with headlights and taillights. The rest of the city creeps outward, sprawling and huge and twinkling beneath them. It’s breathtaking.

“Wow,” Chloe breathes. 

“Spectacular, isn’t it?” Lucifer murmurs. “Everything looks different from up here.”

There’s something in his voice that draws Chloe’s eyes back to his face. “You like to fly,” she observes.

“I do.” He searches her eyes, and then says softly, “Do you?”

Chloe peers down at the ground. Her stomach clenches at how high they are, but Lucifer’s arms are solid around her. The wind is freezing and her dress is doing nothing to shield her from the chill, but Lucifer’s body is warm against hers. The city is stunningly beautiful beneath them, and they’re together. She’s never felt safer.

She looks back at him. “Yeah, I do.”

His throat bobs as he swallows, and if Chloe didn’t know any better she’d think he was trying not to cry. She looks closer, realizes his eyes are glassy, and furrows her eyebrows. Maybe he _is_ trying not to cry. Was it something she said?

“Lucifer?” she murmurs. “Are you okay?”

“Never better,” he says quietly. His eyes flicker over her face as if he’s trying to memorize it, and then he grins. “If we’re going to get to where we’re going at some point in this millennia, though, I’ll need to move a little faster. Are you ready?”

She tightens her arms around his neck. “Uh...yeah. Yeah, I’m good.”

He smiles. “I won’t drop you, Detective.”

“I know. I trust you.”

He studies her, that awed expression on his face once again. She’s opening her mouth to say something along the lines of _Seriously, why do you keep looking at me like that?_ but she doesn’t get the chance. He tightens his hold on her, gives her a wicked grin, and then shoots forward into the night.

Chloe yelps in surprise and curls closer to him. They’re moving _fast._ The air is hard and cold as it streams past them. Her hair is whipping wildly around her face and her dress is fluttering against her legs. She has to squint against the wind, and her eyes are watering a little, but she doesn’t dare close them. She doesn’t want to miss a second of this. Not the glittering streets and glowing buildings beneath them, or the wide smile on Lucifer’s lips, or the gleaming white of his wings behind him, rising and falling and filling her ears with a steady _fwap fwap fwap._

Eventually, when they’re close to the outskirts of the city, Lucifer slows down. He comes to a stop over a dark and empty parking lot behind a battered looking building, and then descends toward the ground slowly. His feet hit the pavement, and his wings flap once more and then stretch out and hover. 

Chloe stares. Now that they’re still, she can’t get over how _huge_ they are. His wingspan is...it’s got to be at least fifteen feet. 

Lucifer leans forward, lowering his arm beneath her legs to put her down. Her high heels hit the pavement with a sharp click. Once she’s on her own two feet again, she finally manages to tear her gaze away from his wings. 

She flushes when she realizes he caught her staring. “Sorry,” she murmurs. 

He shakes his head and smiles. “You’re a detective by trade, darling. Truth be told, I’d be concerned if you weren’t curious. You’re curious about everything.” 

He doesn’t sound offended, and he’s smiling, so she lets her eyes wander back to his wings. 

They’re beautiful. She wonders if the elegant top curves are bone or cartilage or something else, something celestial, but doesn’t ask. The feathers at the top are smaller, almost delicate. They grow in size as the wing descends downward, and the ones at the bottom are long and large. There are so many of them and they’re so stunningly white that they seem to light up the dark parking lot. 

She lifts her hand without thinking, wanting to touch them to see if they’re as soft and glossy as they look, but she catches herself. 

She stops with her hand stretched out halfway to his wing and glances up at him. He’s standing ramrod straight, and the smile is no longer on his lips. He hasn’t recoiled from her, but that doesn’t mean he wants to be touched. She thinks about that day in his penthouse early in their partnership, when she saw his scars and tried to touch them. She still remembers the tightness of his fingers around her wrist and the way his voice sounded. 

_Don’t. Please._

She searches his eyes, wondering if he’ll repeat the same thing to her now, but he doesn’t. 

“Can I…?” she asks softly.

He shifts from one foot to the other, swallows hard, and then nods.

That’s not a firm enough confirmation for her. She drops her hand to make it clear that she means what she’s about to say. “If you don’t want me to, I won’t.”

He glances down at her hand hanging by her side. She waits for him. He takes a deep breath and then lifts his chin. “You’re more than welcome to touch me in whatever way you please, Detective.”

She studies him. She’s still unsure, but it’s the knowledge that he doesn’t lie to her that helps make up her mind. He wouldn’t say she was welcome to touch him if he didn’t mean it. 

She lifts her hand slowly, trying to give him plenty of time to change his mind and recoil, but he stands as still as a statue before her. She looks away from his face and toward his wing, and then closes the last bit of distance and strokes her fingertips lightly over the feathers next to his elbow.

He flinches. She yanks her hand back and snaps her gaze up to meet his. 

“Sorry,” she says.

He shakes his head. “No, I…” He closes his eyes and inhales deeply, and then opens his eyes and lets his breath out in a short burst. “Go ahead.”

She hates that he seems to be steeling himself to be touched. He used to be like this before, back when he asked her to sleep with him every five minutes but froze every time she offered any semblance of meaningful physical affection. He’s been different ever since she told him that she loves him. He doesn’t just tolerate physical affection anymore—he welcomes it and even seeks it out. She loves that. And she doesn’t want to jeopardize it by crossing a boundary he wants to keep. 

“Lucifer,” she starts.

“It’s all right, Detective,” he interrupts. “Go ahead. I want you to.”

“Are you sure? Because your body language is saying that’s the last thing you want.”

He sighs. He rolls his shoulders a little, though his wings don’t disappear. He adjusts the collar of his shirt, and then his cufflinks. He’s fidgeting. Which isn’t unheard of—he is Lucifer, after all—but this seems different than his usual busyness. He seems...uncomfortable. 

She made him uncomfortable. 

Guilt flares in her chest. “I’m sorry, Lucifer,” she says, folding her hands together in front of her. “I shouldn’t have—”

“Please don’t finish that sentence,” he says, lifting his hand. 

Chloe presses her lips together. 

Lucifer rolls his shoulders again. She wonders if it’s a nervous tic. She’s never seen him do it like that before, but she’s also never seen him with his wings out for this long. She’s dying to look at them again but she doesn’t want to stare, so she forces herself to focus on his face. 

“I have a complicated relationship with my wings,” he says eventually, finally meeting her gaze. “I don’t particularly enjoy exploring the feelings they inspire, and I certainly don’t wish to discuss those feelings with the vast majority of humans, so it’s easier to pretend they don’t exist. Which means, of course, that I’m not...I’m not accustomed to being touched.” 

Chloe frowns. “What about Eve?”

“What about her?”

“You never...I mean, she didn’t touch them?”

Lucifer smiles sadly. “She never asked, and I never offered. Quite frankly, I don’t think it was the angelic side of me that she cared for.” 

A tidal wave of sadness crashes over Chloe. Every time she thinks she understands how lonely he’s been, she’s confronted with something else that makes her realize she has no idea. 

Her first instinct is to touch him. She’s always been a toucher with people she loves. But Lucifer isn’t like her, and she doesn’t want to make him uncomfortable again, and her wanting to touch him is what brought about this entire conversation in the first place. Then again, she knows how often he overthinks things. If she _avoids_ touching him, he’ll notice that too. She doesn’t want to give him a reason to question her feelings for him or her faith in their relationship. Not after the hell they’ve been through tonight. 

She wavers, undecided, and then makes up her mind. She reaches forward—slowly, so as not to startle him—and grabs his hands, because she knows that’s a touch he won’t mind. His hands animate in hers immediately, and he strokes his thumbs over her skin. 

“I care about all your sides, Lucifer,” she murmurs, tipping her head back to look him in the eye. “I love _all_ of you. But that doesn’t mean you owe me, okay? You don’t have to do things you don’t want to do. I only want what you’re _willing_ to give. So if you don’t want—”

“That’s just it, Detective,” he cuts her off, his voice uncharacteristically soft. “I do. I want it very much.”

She frowns. “Then why…?”

He rolls his shoulders again. “This is all very new for me. I’ve never…”

He swallows and seems unable to finish.

“Let someone this close?” she supplies. 

He nods. The look on his face is so earnest that Chloe’s heart shoots straight into her throat. She loves him so much, more than she’s ever loved anyone she’s been with, but somehow it doesn’t feel like enough. How can she give him everything he’s lacked for millennia? How can she possibly make him see that he deserves so much more than what he believes?

“I’ll be as close as you want me, Lucifer,” she murmurs, her voice catching. “Just tell me what you want.”

He tilts closer to her. “Touch them.”

She searches his eyes for any trace of indecision. There isn’t one. So she lifts her hand slowly, keeping her gaze locked with his, and strokes her fingertips gently over the feathers by his elbow. He shivers a little, but doesn’t move. She licks her lips, and then glances at his wing and watches as her fingers stroke over his feathers again. They’re like silk beneath her skin. She lifts her hand up to the small feathers at the top, rubbing them gently between her fingers, and then flattens her hand against his wing and trails her palm down to the larger ones. 

When she glances up at him, his jaw is clenched and his eyes are closed. She freezes, her hand hovering close to his wing but no longer touching him, and he snaps his eyes open. 

“Is this okay?” she asks.

“More than,” he says quietly. 

She strokes her fingers over his feathers again. “What’s it feel like?”

He seems to consider the question, and then he lifts his hand and buries it in her hair, his fingers threading through the strands on the nape of her neck. “Like that, I’d imagine.”

“So good then.”

He smiles. “Yes, Detective. It always feels good when you touch me.”

She strokes her fingers over him again. His wing quivers beneath her touch. She’s opening her mouth to ask him if his wings have different nerves than the rest of his body because he seems even more responsive to her touch than usual, but she gets cut off by the distant sound of angry shouting. 

She drops her hand and turns, starting to slide between Lucifer and the edge of the parking lot on a cop reflex, but he seems to have the same idea and tries to shield her. Their shoulders collide. He’s solid—like, _angel_ solid—and far bigger than her, so she bounces a little off him. He catches her elbow to steady her. She hears a faint _woosh,_ and when she glances at him, his wings are gone. 

More shouting erupts, and they turn in unison to see a group of men sauntering by on the sidewalk. They either don’t notice or don’t care that Lucifer and Chloe are in the parking lot. Chloe waits until they’re out of earshot and then turns toward Lucifer.

“Where are we?” she wonders. Being hundreds of feet above L.A. is more than a little disorienting, and she doesn’t recognize her surroundings.

“Just south of the 105,” Lucifer replies. 

“Why’d you bring us here?” 

“Because we need to get out of L.A. undetected, and the man who will help us do that works out of the motel around the corner.”

Chloe arches an eyebrow. “I’m guessing this guy isn’t exactly a law-abiding citizen?”

Lucifer grins. “Neither are we at the moment.”

“Right,” Chloe says. She’d almost forgotten that a few minutes ago, she was on the wrong end of a high-speed chase. “Well, then, lead the way.”

Lucifer offers her his arm with a smile. Chloe loops her arm through his, and then he leads her out of the parking lot and down the sidewalk toward a semi-busy street. He hangs a left at a store front with a boarded up front door and windows, and they walk past an overgrown lot that’s partially enclosed by a chain link fence that’s definitely seen better days. 

“It’s this building here,” Lucifer says, nodding at the yellow building to their left. Up ahead, a tall, bright blue sign proclaims that the building is a motel. Beneath it are the words _color TVs and king beds._

“Color TVs, huh?” Chloe says. “Fancy.”

Lucifer leers at her. “And king beds.”

Chloe rolls her eyes. Lucifer leads her into a small parking lot that’s empty and dotted with potholes. They climb three steps, and walk past the empty front office and down an open-air hallway until they get to a room marked by a chrome number four. Lucifer pounds on the door with his fist. 

A moment passes, and then the door swings open. A thin man with jet black hair and a goatee answers. His jeans are ripped stylishly, and his black t-shirt bears the bedazzled forms of two naked women—one with devil horns and a tail, and the other with a halo. 

“Good evening, Javier,” Lucifer says with a smile.

“Lucifer,” Javier greets, sounding surprised. “I wasn’t expecting you.”

“Yes, well, it’s a pleasant surprise, I’m sure.”

Javier glances at Chloe and then double takes. His eyes travel slowly over her body as his mouth falls open. “Damn,” he murmurs. 

Chloe isn’t sure if she should be flattered or offended. 

Lucifer seems offended. “This is my girlfriend,” he says stiffly. “I suggest you stop undressing her with your eyes if you wish to keep your skull attached to your spine.”

Javier immediately snaps to attention. “Sorry. I uh…” He frowns. “Did you say girlfriend?”

“Indeed,” Lucifer says. “Now are you going to invite us in, or have you lost every ounce of your discretion since last we spoke?”

Javier straightens. “Right. My bad.” He scurries out of the doorway and swings the door open wide. “Come in.”

Lucifer slides his hand along Chloe’s lower back and guides her across the threshold of the motel room and then follows her inside. She pauses a few feet inside the door, but Lucifer continues past her toward the bathroom, where he hovers in the doorway and fusses with his windswept hair.

Chloe watches him with a smirk. She never thought she’d end up with a man who cares more about his hair than she cares about hers. Then again, she never thought she’d end up in love with the actual Devil, either. 

She turns away from him and surveys her surroundings. For the most part, it’s exactly what she expected based on the outside of the building: faded carpet, neutral walls, and a king sized bed with a bedspread that was last in fashion a few decades ago. A half-empty pizza box is on the bed, and a six pack of cheap beer is sitting on the bedside table next to a bong. Mounted on the exterior wall across from the bed, though, is a massive and very expensive television that’s definitely out of place in a motel like this. The screen is paused on a video game. She has no idea which one. 

Behind her, the front door shuts with a thud. She turns toward the sound. Javier meets her gaze and offers his hand with a sheepish smile. “Hi. I’m Javier.”

“Chloe,” she says, shaking his hand. 

Javier glances at Lucifer, who is still focused on his hair, and then back to her. “Sorry about that,” he says quietly, jerking his thumb toward the door. “You’re just uh…” 

“Painfully beautiful?” Lucifer supplies, turning to face them. “Yes, she’s aware. She’s also very modest, which means you’re probably making her uncomfortable. I suggest you stop that before I get cross.”

Javier swallows. “Right. Sure. My bad.” He casts an apologetic look at Chloe. “Sorry. Again.”

“It’s fine,” Chloe says. “Really.”

Lucifer crosses the room to stand next to her, and then glances toward the TV. “I assume you’re not busy?”

Javier frowns. “Actually I was kind of in the middle of…” 

He trails off when Lucifer lifts his eyebrows. 

“Nope,” he says, shaking his head. “Not busy. Not at all. What can I do for you?”

“The Detective and I—”

“Wait, Detective?” Javier interrupts. He looks at Chloe in horror. “You’re a _cop?_ ”

“Javier,” Lucifer says, holding out his hands. “Before you freak out—”

It’s too late. Javier is already freaking out. 

“Are you kidding me?!” he demands, backing as far away from Chloe as he can get in the small room. “What the hell is wrong with you, man? You brought a cop here? _Here?_ This is my _sanctuary,_ Lucifer!” 

Lucifer glances around the room with his lip curled in distaste. “I’m fairly certain this dump isn’t worthy of that moniker, Javi.”

“Probably shouldn’t insult the guy we need help from,” Chloe points out.

“Nevertheless,” Lucifer says, nodding at Chloe, “I understand the point you’re making. You feel betrayed.”

“Of course I feel fucking betrayed!” Javier scowls. “How would you like it if I brought a priest to your club?” 

“Actually, I’ve had a priest in my club,” Lucifer says. “Delightful fellow. Hell of a piano player.”

“Still adorable,” Chloe murmurs under her breath. 

Lucifer frowns at her. 

Chloe shrugs. “Just saying.” 

Javier glances between them incredulously and then gestures at the door. “You have to go. Now. Get out.”

Lucifer shakes his head. “I’m afraid we can’t do that, Javier. You and I have a contract, and I expect you to honor it. We require your services.”

“You ain’t getting shit from me, man,” Javier says. “You brought a _cop_ with you. How could you do this to me? Haven’t I always done right by you? Haven’t I always gotten you what you want, when you want it?”

“Indeed you have. And now you’re going to do it again.”

“No way, man. Why would I help the guy who ratted me out?”

Lucifer sighs. “No one is ratting you out, all right? Calm down. We’re here because we’re trying to _avoid_ the cops.”

“But _she’s_ a cop!” Javier says incredulously, gesturing at Chloe.

Lucifer clenches his jaw, and Chloe knows he’s having a hard time keeping his temper in check. That’s her cue.

She holds her hands up in what she hopes is a disarming gesture. “Look, Javier, I don’t care what you do for a living, all right? I’m not here in a professional capacity. As far as I know, you’re a law-abiding citizen who enjoys video games and helping old ladies cross the street.”

Javier narrows his eyes at her. “How do you know about my abuela? You been watching us?”

Chloe frowns. “What? No. I didn’t…” She sighs. “Look, I’m not a cop right now, okay?” 

Lucifer smirks at her. 

She tilts her head. “Well, okay, I’m always a cop. But I’m sort of on the wrong side of the law at the moment.”

Javier frowns. “What?”

“We’re on the run,” Lucifer says impatiently. “We went rogue. We’re fugitives. Which, by the way, is quite an accomplishment for this one. You wouldn’t believe how much she loves rules and procedure. _Goody two shoes_ is an understatement.”

“Hey,” Chloe says with a frown. 

“It’s true, darling,” he replies. “It’d be appalling if it wasn’t so endearing.”

“Endearing?” Javier repeats in bewilderment. 

Lucifer grins. “Truth be told, I find it rather attractive when she starts rattling off procedural codes. Oh, and when she sees someone breaking a rule but she’s trying to play it cool, her nose does this adorable little scrunching thing that…” 

He trails off when he realizes Javier is looking at him like he just grew a second head. 

“Nevermind,” Lucifer says, straightening. “Not the time to wax poetic.”

“What the hell is happening right now?” Javier demands. “Are you high?”

“Unfortunately, no,” Lucifer says. He casts a hopeful glance at Chloe. “But that might be on the agenda later.” 

Chloe gives him a look.

He straightens obediently. “Right. We require your services, Javier. And since you’ll be helping us evade arrest, you needn’t worry about the Detective arresting you.”

Javier glances at Chloe.

She shakes her head. “I won’t arrest you. I swear. Couldn’t if I wanted to. I don’t have my handcuffs on me.”

“Pity,” Lucifer sighs.

Chloe shoots him another look. “Can you focus, please?”

He grins and gives her a once over. “I _am._ ”

Chloe rolls her eyes.

“How do I know you won’t call for backup?” Javier asks suspiciously. 

“Because if I did, they’d get here and arrest me instead of you,” Chloe replies. “I’ve resisted arrest multiple times tonight _and_ I led them on a high speed chase. Speaking from experience, cops don’t really like that.” 

Javier frowns. “Wait. That was you guys?”

“What was us?” Lucifer asks. 

“The high speed chase,” Javier answers. “I got an alert on my phone from KTLA about it.“

“KTLA?” Chloe asks. “Like, the local news?”

“Yeah,” Javier says. He reaches into his pocket. “Here, I’ll show you.” He pulls his phone out and glances down at the screen, and then frowns. “Oh.”

“Oh what?” Lucifer asks.

Javier looks up. “Just got another alert. The LAPD is holding a press conference about a kidnapped detective.”

Lucifer and Chloe share a look.

“Is that you?” Javier wonders.

“Where’s the TV remote?” Chloe asks instead of answering. 

Javier points at the bedside table. “It’s there next to my...not bong. That is _not_ a bong. It’s a...prop. For a movie. That I’m in. As an extra.”

“You’re clearly lying,” Lucifer says. “But just for the record, you should _not_ go into acting. You’re terrible at it.” 

“Rude,” Javier accuses.

“Truthful,” Lucifer counters. “Not my fault if it hurts.”

Chloe ignores them both and snatches the remote off the table. She switches the television’s input until she finds live TV, and then flips channels until she finds KTLA. She immediately recognizes the navy background that the LAPD uses for press conferences, and the wooden podium with the LAPD seal mounted on the front and a dozen microphones arranged in a half-circle. The American flag and the California flag are positioned on either side of the screen, but there’s no one at the podium. 

“Maybe we missed it,” Javier says.

The words are barely out of his mouth when Jax walks onto the screen.

Chloe’s heart stops in her chest. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she understands why Jax is the one giving the press conference. But as she stares at him on the screen, she’s not thinking about how he’s her boss’s boss. She’s thinking about him standing next to her father’s grave, holding her mother while she cried at the funeral. She’s thinking about her wedding day, when he kissed her on the cheek right before he walked her down the aisle and said, _You look beautiful, kid._ She’s thinking about the day she got promoted to detective, and how Jax smiled at her from the other side of a high-top table at the bar where they were celebrating and said _I’m proud of you, Hollywood. And your dad would be too._

Jax isn’t smiling now. He looks tired. His salt and pepper hair is buzzed close to his head, and his uniform is pressed neatly. The two silver bars on his collar that identify him as a captain gleam under a sudden flurry of camera flashes. Lieutenant Keller and the Chief of Police appear behind him. Chloe’s stomach sinks. If the Chief is there, this isn’t going to be good.

“Good evening,” Jax says, looking straight at the camera. “My name is Captain David Jackson.”

“Wait a minute,” Lucifer says quietly. He looks at Chloe. “Is that your…?”

“Yeah,” she says, swallowing around the lump in her throat. “That’s Jax.”

Jax clears his throat. “This evening at approximately 10:34 pm, officers responded to a call about an officer in distress at the Lux Nightclub in downtown Los Angeles. The officer in question was Detective Chloe Decker, who serves under my command in the Robbery-Homicide Division as a homicide detective.”

“Under his command?” Lucifer repeats, frowning at Chloe. “You mean he’s—”

“Keller’s boss,” Chloe confirms. “And mine.”

“For the past few years, Detective Decker has been working alongside a civilian consultant by the name of Lucifer Morningstar, the owner and proprietor of the Lux Nightclub. Earlier this evening, the LAPD received a tip that Mr. Morningstar has been using the connections he’s established through his work with Detective Decker to bolster his extensive criminal network and enterprises.”

“Hey, way to go, bro,” Javier says with a grin. 

“That’s a lie,” Lucifer hisses. 

The grin drops off Javier’s face. 

“Our investigation into his illicit activities is ongoing,” Jax says. “I’m not at liberty to discuss the details of his specific crimes, though I can say that we’ve uncovered a considerable amount of evidence that points to some truly horrific acts. It is our belief that Detective Decker was alerted to these crimes, and confronted Mr. Morningstar in his penthouse apartment earlier this evening. His response to her confrontation was violent in nature, and triggered the distress call our officers responded to.”

Anger flares in Chloe’s chest. The idea that Lucifer would hurt her is so ridiculous it makes her want to throw the remote at the TV. 

“When officers arrived in the penthouse to assist Detective Decker, Mr. Morningstar resisted arrest and injured several of them,” Jax says. 

“That wasn’t me, that was her!” Lucifer sputters. 

“Since then, he has assaulted and injured an additional two dozen officers as well as several civilians.”

“All right, that was me,” Lucifer grumbles. “But they started it.” 

Javier snorts.

On the screen, Jax narrows his eyes into a glare and scans the room of reporters. “I would like to make it crystal clear that Detective Decker was not involved in or even aware of Mr. Morningstar’s illegal activities prior to this evening. Although she appears to be assisting him now, eyewitness testimony indicates that Mr. Morningstar may be forcing her to do so by threatening to harm her young daughter and other family members.”

Chloe glances at Lucifer. His jaw is clenched, and his hands are curled into fists. 

“As most of you in this room are aware, officers were involved in a high speed chase not long ago,” Jax continues. “I can confirm that they were in pursuit of Detective Decker and Mr. Morningstar, who have—for the time being—avoided capture. As we speak, the LAPD is collaborating with neighboring jurisdictions, the Los Angeles County Sheriff’s Department, and state and federal authorities to conduct a manhunt. Citizens should expect to see a considerably stronger police presence throughout the city and county in the coming days. We believe such efforts are necessary, given the threat posed by Mr. Morningstar.”

Jax clears his throat, puts his hands on either side of the podium, and looks straight into the camera. “I’d now like to speak directly to Detective Decker in case she’s watching or listening.”

Lucifer and Javier glance at Chloe. She keeps her eyes glued to the TV.

“Chloe,” Jax says, his voice softening. “The evidence against Mr. Morningstar is significant in both size and scope. I know—we _all_ know—that the only reason you’re helping him now is to protect your daughter. But she’s safe. She and the rest of your family are in protective custody and will remain there, under my watch, until Mr. Morningstar is apprehended. You have my word. So if you’re listening...do whatever you need to do to come home. Your daughter needs you.”

He stares at the camera for a beat longer, and then scans the room. “Thank you. That will be all. We won’t be taking questions at this time.”

He walks off screen, followed by Keller and the Chief. The camera lingers on the empty podium for a moment, and then it cuts away and a brunette news anchor appears on screen. 

The news anchor starts talking, but Chloe doesn’t hear what she says. She’s not listening. All she can hear is Jax’s voice, deep and familiar and filled with concern. _Come home. Your daughter needs you._

Trixie’s face flashes through her mind next, her cheeks streaked with tears and her arms outstretched. _Don’t leave me!_

Dan follows. _You either dump that asshole or I’m suing for full custody._

Chloe thinks of the voicemail on her phone from her mom, and the colleagues she hurt at the penthouse. She thinks about how every law enforcement officer within a hundred miles is now focused on hunting her down and separating her from Lucifer, and there’s nothing she can do about it. She can’t stop any of this. She can’t fix it.

She’s helpless.

It’s suddenly hard to breathe. She feels like she’s underwater, and she can’t tell which way is up, and her lungs are screaming for oxygen but she can’t get any. 

She can’t breathe. 

She faintly registers the feel of Lucifer’s hands on hers, pulling the TV remote gently from her grasp. He steps between her and the TV and ducks forward to look at her. 

“Detective?” he says softly. 

She sucks in a breath. It’s not enough. Her lungs are screaming. Her vision is swimming and dotted with black spots. She sucks in another breath.

“Chloe,” Lucifer says, sounding worried. He lifts his hands to her face. She flinches at his touch. He freezes, his eyebrows furrowing. 

Chloe suddenly remembers how guilty he looked at the club when she admitted that she was afraid Zatanna wouldn’t be able to fix this. He looks that way now, too, and she hates that. The motel room feels increasingly small and stiflingly hot and she’s still struggling to breathe, but she doesn’t want to fall apart in front of him. He’ll blame himself, and he shouldn’t. None of this is his fault. It’s better for him—kinder of her—if she breaks down alone.

She swallows hard and wraps her fingers around his wrists to pull his hands down from her face. “I…” she starts. Her voice comes out sounding like a croak. She clears her throat and tries again. “I need to get some air.”

Lucifer frowns. “I’ll go with you.”

“No, it’s okay,” she says, shaking her head. She gestures at Javier. “You guys, uh...you do your thing so we can get out of here. I’ll just be outside.”

Lucifer’s frown deepens. “Detective—”

“I’m fine,” she cuts him off. “I just need a second.”

She stumbles toward the door before Lucifer can try to argue with her again. He doesn’t follow her. She reaches for the handle with shaking hands, swings the door open and steps outside, and then pulls it shut behind her. 

Her vision starts to blur with tears the second she gets outside. She inhales a ragged breath and staggers down the corridor, her heels clicking on the pavement. She gets as far as the steps outside the front office, and then her knees give way. 

She doesn’t fight it. She just sinks down on the steps, curls in on herself, and cries.

* * *

For a moment after the door slams shut, a heavy silence hangs in the air.

Lucifer stares at the closed door that the Detective exited through, frozen and choking around the icy fingers of guilt wrapping around his throat. He thinks he can smell the faint scent of her perfume lingering in the air. Usually, that scent brings him pleasure. Right now, though, all it does is remind him that she’s gone. She left him. She was upset and struggling not to cry, just like that night he told her about Uriel, only this time she wouldn’t let him hold her. She flinched when he touched her. She pulled his hands away from her face and she stepped away from him and left because she didn’t...

She didn’t want him to be near her.

“Uh, Lucifer?” Javier says, interrupting the silence. “Aren’t you going to go after her?”

Lucifer clenches his jaw against the hurt and guilt warring in his chest and clears his throat. “No,” he says, brushing an imaginary piece of lint off his shirt sleeve. “I am not.”

Javier frowns. “I’m pretty sure she’s out there crying.”

The guilt returns with a vengeance. Lucifer struggles with it for a moment before he finally manages to wrestle it into submission. “The Detective asked for some space,” he says stiffly. “I intend to honor her wish.”

Javier shakes his head. “Nah, man, see, women don’t always mean what they say. Sometimes—”

“No means no, Javier,” Lucifer cuts him off. “She said no. End of discussion.”

Javier nods. “Right. Okay.”

An awkward silence ensues. Lucifer tries not to glance longingly at the door. He wants to go after her _so_ badly, but he’s terrified that she’ll recoil from him. He can’t bear that. 

“So,” Javier says eventually. “I’m guessing you want to hang out in one of my safehouses until all this blows over?”

“No,” Lucifer says, shaking his head. “It’s not safe for her in L.A. We need a vehicle.”

“You got a preference, or…?”

“I’d like an SUV. She’ll be more comfortable that way. Make sure it has tinted windows.” He thinks of the Detective shivering at the beach, and then again in his arms while they flew here. “And heated seats.”

Javier strides toward the bed and plucks an iPad off the bedside table. “All right,” he says, his finger tapping the screen. “I’ll pull up some options for you. You want cash too?”

“Yes. The entirety of my initial deposit with you should suffice.”

Javier looks up in surprise. “You want that much?”

“Yes,” Lucifer says, folding his hands behind his back and pacing across the room. “Small bills, obviously.”

Javier snorts. “Obviously. Identities?”

“Two sets, I think,” Lucifer says. “Better safe than sorry.” He glances at Javier. “Unless doing so in such a short amount of time isn’t feasible?”

Javier grins. “Come on, man. There’s a reason you have a contract with me and not some other guy, right?”

Lucifer nods. “Indeed.”

“I can make them married couples if you want.”

Lucifer’s steps hitch.

“I know you’re not actually married,” Javier says, sounding apologetic. “But when I do pairs I usually make them legally married because it’s easier to—”

“That’s fine,” Lucifer cuts him off. He’s trying not to think about what it would be like to see a ring on the Detective’s fourth finger and know that he’d placed it there. “Married is fine.”

“Okay. Let me make some calls—”

“Not so fast. There are a few additional things I require.”

Javier lifts his eyebrows. “All right. What do you need?”

Lucifer slides his hands into his pockets. “I’m going to make a list of food and drink that I’d like one of your lackeys to purchase and bring with the car.”

Javier grins. “Got the munchies?”

Lucifer doesn’t return his smile. “I also need a gun. A Glock 19, to be exact. Untraceable, fully loaded, and with plenty of extra ammunition available.”

“If you want something bigger, I’ve got—”

“I want a Glock 19,” Lucifer says firmly. 

He thinks about the way the Detective stands when she’s got her badge and her gun on her hip, and the way she’d been standing a few minutes ago when she watched the press conference. His chest aches. 

“Nothing else will do.”

Javier nods. “You got it, man.”

* * *

Chloe isn’t sure how long she sits outside. 

Long enough to cry out all the tears she’s got. Long enough to wish that she hadn’t left Lucifer’s jacket back at the club too. She’s cold. 

She’s getting to her feet to go back to Javier’s motel room when a black Escalade pulls into the parking lot. The windows are tinted, so she can’t see who’s driving. It’s not the kind of car a cop would drive, but Jax’s press conference is still fresh enough in her mind that she turns her face away so that the driver can’t see her. She starts to walk down the hallway, but stops when Javier’s door swings open and Javier steps outside. 

Lucifer follows and closes the door behind him. Chloe’s heart shoots into her throat when their eyes meet. His gaze flickers over her body as he walks toward her, but there’s no desire in it. He seems to be assessing her for injuries. 

“Ride’s here,” Javier says brightly as he passes her. 

Chloe ignores him. She reaches for Lucifer as soon as he’s close enough and grabs his hand. He stops next to her.

“All right?” he murmurs.

She nods. “Yeah. Sorry.”

“No need for apologies.” 

His voice sounds...off. She studies his face, but she can’t read his expression. That worries her. “Are _you_ okay?” she asks, tilting closer to him. 

“Of course,” he says, flashing her a smile. “You needn’t worry yourself over me, Detective.”

“But—”

“Come along. We need to get out of the city before your colleagues get their bearings.”

He brushes past her without another word. He doesn’t let go of her hand, but Chloe doesn’t find that reassuring. 

“Slick, right?” Javier says before she can say anything else. “Who says you can’t evade arrest in style?”

Chloe tears her eyes away from Lucifer to see Javier gesturing at the Escalade with a proud smirk. The door on the driver’s side opens, and a tall man in a red stocking cap gets out. He gives Chloe a once over, casts an uninterested look at Lucifer, and then holds out the keys to Javier. 

“Wait, this is for us?” Chloe asks in surprise.

“Yep,” Javier says with a grin. 

Lucifer seems unimpressed. “I chose the Mercedes.”

Javier sighs. “You also requested tinted windows, heated seats, and a shit ton of other stuff, and you only gave me half an hour to get it all done. You got everything except the car brand, my dude. Beggars can’t be choosers.”

“Given the price tag of our current exchange, I think it’s clear I’m anything but a beggar,” Lucifer says stiffly. “What about the other items I requested?”

Javier looks at the guy in the red hat, who jerks his head toward the back of the SUV and says, “Trunk.”

Javier fumbles with the key fob until he finds the right button. The trunk lifts slowly, and Lucifer leads Chloe by the hand to the back of the car. There are two black gym bags and a pair of white plastic bags sitting in the trunk. Javier reaches for the first gym bag, unzips it, and then tips it toward Lucifer. 

Chloe’s mouth falls open. There are stacks and stacks of cash inside. 

Javier glances up at Lucifer. “Small bills, unmarked and untraceable. You want to count it? I’ve got a machine inside.”

Lucifer shakes his head. “No.”

Javier drops the cash bag, reaches for the second gym bag, and unzips it. He shoves his hand inside and pulls out four passports. “Two identities for each of you, just in case one set gets compromised,” he says. “Matching drivers’ licenses are in there too. Oh, and cell phones.” 

“You created new identities for us in half an hour?” Chloe says incredulously. 

Javier grins at her. “Wasn’t even hard.”

“Javier is the best at what he does, Detective,” Lucifer says. “That’s why we’re here.”

“And I’m not done yet,” Javier says, his grin widening. 

He snatches one of the white plastic bags and holds it out to Chloe. She lets go of Lucifer’s hand to take the bag from Javier and peer inside. It contains a box of Club crackers, a giant bag of assorted chocolate, and two bottles of the brand of iced tea that she sometimes drinks on stakeouts. She looks up at Lucifer. 

“There should be healthier options in the other bag,” he says. “If that’s what you would prefer.”

Chloe blinks at him. “You asked him to get me snacks?”

He looks uncomfortable. “Well, I assumed you’d be a bit peckish and I didn’t think you’d be too keen on going through a drive thru, given our current predicament. But if you’d prefer something more substantial, I can—”

“No,” Chloe cuts him off. “That’s not…” 

She trails off and holds his gaze. She wants to step into his space and lift her hands to his face and ask him why he’s so worried she’ll disapprove, and why he seems so far away when he’s standing right in front of her. But Javier and the guy with the red hat are staring at them, so she reaches out and squeezes Lucifer’s arm instead. 

“Thank you,” she says.

He smiles at her and then looks at Javier. “And the final item?”

Javier glances at red hat guy, who lifts his shirt and pulls a Glock out of his waistband. Chloe stiffens, but he offers the gun to Lucifer with a bored expression. 

“It’s for her, actually,” Lucifer says, nodding at Chloe. “I’m more of a fisticuffs man myself.”

The driver offers the gun to Chloe, still wearing the same bored expression. Chloe blinks at him in surprise for a second, and then hands the plastic bag back to Javier and takes the gun. 

It’s stupid, maybe, but she feels like the familiar weight of it in her hand eases just a little of the heaviness that’s been sitting on her chest since she left Trixie. She wonders if Lucifer knew that would happen. She glances up at him. He’s watching her closely, like he’s trying to gauge her reaction, and she knows he did. Warmth flickers in her chest and spreads. 

She slips beneath his arm and folds herself into his side, her arm tight around his back. He looks down at her in surprise, but doesn’t hesitate to drape his arm around her shoulders. 

“Well?” Javier says, holding his arms out. “How’d I do? Awesome, right?”

“Yes, well done, Javier,” Lucifer says. “I never doubted you for a moment.”

“You sure you guys don’t want to stay at one of my places until this blows over? I got a sweet ass place out in Malibu that no one will find you in.”

Lucifer snorts. “Mazikeen will.”

Javier frowns. “Who?”

“You’ll find out soon enough,” Lucifer says. “Keys?”

Javier tosses him the keys. The guy in the red hat shuts the trunk. Chloe walks around to the other side of the SUV and climbs into the passenger seat, content to let Lucifer drive. 

Lucifer gets in the driver’s side and slams the door, and then presses a button to roll the window down when Javier steps toward the car. 

“At least tell me where you’re going,” Javier says. “That way if you send me an SOS signal, I can send someone to get you.”

“That would be foolish,” Lucifer replies as he starts the car. 

“Foolish?” Javier repeats with a frown. 

Lucifer sighs. “Yes, Javier. Mazikeen won’t be far behind us. If I tell you where we’re headed, you’ll tell her. And then we’ll be back to square one, and I have no patience for that.”

Javier frowns. “I’m not a snitch, Lucifer.”

Lucifer smiles. “That’s what everyone says before they meet Maze.” 

“Lucifer,” Chloe says, reaching out to touch his arm. “Won’t he tell her the names on the IDs?”

Lucifer shakes his head. “He doesn’t know what they are. I altered them from what he selected just before the physical documents were rendered, and they’ve been deleted from his system. We’re untraceable, darling, I assure you.” 

He puts his hand on the gear stick and turns back to Javier. “Thank you again, Javier, but we won’t be needing anything else. Enjoy the rest of your evening.” He grins. “Well, until Maze shows up anyway.”

Lucifer rolls the window up in Javier’s face, and then shoves the gear stick into drive and guides the SUV toward the parking lot exit. 

Chloe glances in the rearview mirror at Javier, who is frowning at them as they drive away, and then turns toward Lucifer.

“Where are we going?” 

He looks suddenly uncomfortable. He shifts in his seat and clears his throat. “Somewhere no one will think to look for you.”

Chloe frowns. “Where’s that?”

Lucifer doesn’t answer her. He glances both ways and then pulls out onto the street. Chloe waits, but he doesn’t say anything.

“Lucifer,” she prompts, dropping her voice into her detective tone. 

He shoots her an apologetic look. 

“Vegas.”


	16. Sixteen

The word _Vegas_ makes Chloe feel like she’s been slapped. 

For the record, it’s not because she’s still upset about Candy. Nope. She is totally, completely over that. It’s ancient history. Sure, her chest still aches whenever she remembers how Lucifer’s furniture looked covered in sheets. And sure, it still stings like hell every time she thinks about seeing a ring on his finger and hearing him say the words _Meet Candy Morningstar, my wife._ But she is definitely not upset about it anymore. Nope. She is fine. Totally and completely _fine._

“I know that Las Vegas has some unpleasant connotations,” Lucifer starts. “But—”

“It’s fine,” she cuts him off. She looks out the window. “You’re right. No one will look for us there.”

Lucifer doesn’t say anything else. The silence between them balloons, stifling and suffocating and broken only by the muffled sounds of cars and the city. Chloe’s brain won’t stop replaying that moment in the precinct. Hearing his voice after weeks of nothing, and feeling her heart leap. Being shushed, and feeling a flash of rage. And then…

Candy.

Chloe wants to ask him about it. She wants to ask him why he told her he was trying to prove himself if he didn’t mean it, and why he ghosted her after she almost died, and why he married a stripper and then got it annulled and never spoke of her again. She wants to ask him if he regrets it. She wants to ask him if he has any idea how much it hurt her. 

Mostly, though, she wants to ask him if he’s going to bail on her again. She wants to know if the fear that’s currently creeping up into her throat like vomit is warranted. She wants to know if she can trust him not to rip her heart out of her chest and stomp it under his red-soled shoes the way he did that day he waltzed into the precinct with a wife. 

But she doesn’t. She’s exhausted and emotionally fragile, and she knows that discussing something so painful when she feels like this is a bad idea. She’s waited this long to ask him about it. She can wait a little longer. 

She stares out the window, but there’s nothing to look at. It’s late so there are fewer people out. Lucifer is driving exactly the speed limit and their windows are tinted, so no one is looking twice at them. He doesn’t turn the radio on. Neither does she. 

The silence stretches. She picks at one of her nails just for something to do. She can’t scroll on her phone because she can’t turn her phone on. There are snacks in the back, but she’s not hungry. There’s just...nothing. Nothing but her and Lucifer and the oppressive silence that she wants to break but doesn’t know how or even if she should. 

By the time they get on the 210, her eyelids are starting to feel heavy. She can’t remember the last time she was this tired, and she wants to sleep _so_ bad, but she can’t. She’s not going to sleep while Lucifer drives. That’s selfish and unfair. 

She straightens in her seat and refocuses on the window. A pickup truck zooms past them. Chloe’s eyelids start to droop and she blinks heavily. Her head tilts forward. Her chin hits her chest and she snaps back to attention, clearing her throat and blinking hard. Maybe she should eat a snack after all. At least it’ll give her something to do. 

“You can go to sleep, Detective,” Lucifer says gently. 

Chloe looks over at him in surprise. 

He smiles briefly at her. “You can barely keep your eyes open. Go to sleep.” 

She shakes her head. “I’m not tired.”

He gives her a disbelieving look, but doesn’t call her on her lie.

“I’m okay,” she insists, sitting up straighter. 

He adjusts his grip on the steering wheel. “I don’t need as much sleep as you, you know.”

She frowns. “What?”

“I’m not human,” he clarifies. “I don’t need as much sleep as you. I appreciate that you’re trying to stay awake out of solidarity, but it isn’t necessary. I’m perfectly fine.”

“You’re not tired?”

“I’m tired. But not the way I would be if I were human.”

Chloe suddenly remembers that one time he showed up at the precinct a disheveled mess and told her he hadn’t slept for a week. At the time, she thought he was just being overdramatic. Apparently she was wrong. So does that mean there are other things that he needs less of? Are there things he needs _more_ of? What, exactly, does being an angel entail?

“Detective,” Lucifer calls, interrupting her thoughts.

She turns to look at him. “What?”

“Do you trust me to keep you safe?” 

She frowns. “Of course I do.”

He reaches across the center console and puts his hand on her knee. “Then go to sleep. I’ve got this.”

She studies him, trying to decide if he’s just putting on a show for her. “Will you wake me up if you need a break?” 

He shakes his head. “I won’t need a break.”

“But if you do?”

He smiles. “You have my word.”

His voice is firm but gentle. Chloe presses her lips together, thinking it over, and then makes up her mind. She turns toward him, shifting in her seat so that she’s facing him. She wraps herself around his arm that’s still stretched out toward her, curling a little in the seat and pulling her knees up toward her chest, and then rests her head against his shoulder. 

She feels him stiffen in surprise, but he relaxes almost immediately. His hand shifts on her knee, warm and familiar, and then his thumb strokes gently over her skin. 

Chloe closes her eyes. The soft hum of the car settles over her like a blanket. She focuses on the steady caress of Lucifer’s thumb on her skin, and then sleep swallows her whole.

* * *

Chloe wakes to the smell of Lucifer’s cologne. 

It takes her a few seconds to realize that she’s not in the car anymore. She feels like she’s moving, but she’s not sure how. She nuzzles closer to the smell, and realizes that her face is buried in his chest. She wonders, briefly, how that’s possible—how can he drive and hold her at the same time?—but sleep pulls her back under and she succumbs.

She wakes again a few minutes later, or maybe a few hours. She doesn’t know. Her limbs feel heavy with exhaustion, and she can’t bring herself to open her eyes. Lucifer sets her down on a cushioned surface and slides his arms out from beneath her, and she misses his warmth immediately. She sighs and squirms and then realizes she’s on a bed. She wonders where it is and how she got here, and then she realizes Lucifer must have carried her from the car. 

Sleep is trying to pull her under again. She’s so _tired._ There are warm fingers brushing over her right ankle. Her high heel slips off her foot. She hums in approval—her feet are aching from these damn shoes—and then the fingers dance over her other ankle. 

_Lucifer,_ she realizes. _Lucifer is taking off my shoes._

The other high heel slips off her foot. Chloe opens her eyes, but all she sees is blackness. Wherever they are, it’s dark. _Very_ dark.

“Lucifer,” she whispers, reaching out into the darkness for him. 

He catches her hand. She feels his lips brush along her knuckles, and then over her thumb joint, and then across the inside of her wrist. His breath is warm on her skin. She cups his face. His stubble is rough beneath her palm. She sees him leaning toward her, a shadowy form looming over her in the darkness, and then his mouth presses against her forehead. 

“Can you sit up for me, love?” he murmurs against her skin. “The zipper’s beneath you and you shouldn’t sleep in this dress after everywhere it’s been.”

She feels drunk and disoriented. Maybe that’s why she says it.

“Say it again,” she whispers.

“Say what?”

“Love.”

He goes still. Somewhere in the back of her mind, a distant voice is hissing that she should stop talking before she humiliates herself by begging for something he doesn’t want to give. But she’s half asleep and warm and safe and she just wants to hear him say it again. Just once.

“Love,” he whispers. She shivers. His lips brush along her forehead, trace down over her temple, and then skim across her cheek to her jaw. “Let me take this dress off you, my love.”

_My_ love. She’s _his._

She fists her hand in his shirt and pulls herself up slowly toward him. He only asked her to sit, but she rises from the bed and stands. She wobbles a little, still feeling disoriented, and he steadies her. He brushes a few more kisses over her face and then his fingers find her zipper. 

It’s nothing like the last time he took this dress off her. There’s no desire this time, no lust. He’s just taking care of her. And god, does she love it.

Once the zipper is undone, he slips the dress off her body and then drops it onto the floor in a heap. He reaches for something on the bed next to her, and then tries to guide one of her arms through the sleeve of what must be one of his dress shirts. 

She frowns. “Wait,” she whispers. 

He stops instantly. “What is it?”

Rather than explain, she reaches behind herself and unhooks her bra. She _hates_ sleeping in a bra, especially a bra designed for a backless dress. She slips it off her body with practiced ease, and then drops it carelessly onto the floor at their feet.

She expects him to try again with the shirt, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t move. She glances up at him and realizes that her eyes have finally adjusted to the darkness. She can see his face now, and that means she can see the way he’s staring at her. 

His gaze sends the last remnants of sleep sprinting from her mind. No one has ever looked at her like he does. Her previous partners all thought she was beautiful. But none of them looked at her the way Lucifer does. 

For a moment, she thinks he might initiate something. If he does, she’ll reciprocate. It’s not the physical release she’s after, though god knows he’s great at giving her that. It’s the intimacy. She wants to feel close to him. She knows him well enough to know that he‘s thinking about it too, but he doesn’t act on it. He stares at her for a second longer, and then snaps his gaze away. He fumbles with the shirt he’s holding, and then starts to put it on her. 

She watches his face as he concentrates on dressing her. He guides one of her arms through a sleeve, and then the other. He fastens a few of the buttons. His fingers hover over the one above her chest after he fastens it, and then he lifts his gaze to hers. He swallows when he realizes she’s staring. His throat bobs, and then he reaches past her to pull the sheets back on the bed. 

She follows his lead and turns away from him to climb under the sheets. She nestles into the mattress, her head on a pillow. It isn’t until he pulls the sheets up and over her body and then leans down to press a kiss to her temple that she realizes he isn’t going to join her.

She darts her hand out and grabs his wrist before he can straighten and pull away. “Where are you going?”

He goes still. “I was going to try Amenadiel again.”

He doesn’t lie, but something feels off. It reminds her of that moment back at the motel when she knew something was wrong but he brushed her off. Fear unfurls in her chest. 

“Please don’t leave me,” she whispers. 

He stares at her. She wonders if she should be mortified by the fact that she sounds like she’s begging, but decides she doesn’t care. 

“Stay,” she whispers, tightening her fingers around his wrist. “Please.”

He searches her gaze. She lets him. A moment passes, and then he pulls gently out of her grasp. Her heart shoots into her throat until he starts to unbutton his shirt, and then she exhales in relief. 

He sheds all his clothes until he’s only in his boxers. She scoots back toward the middle of the bed to make room for him. He lifts the sheets and slides beneath them, and she immediately folds herself into his side. 

He wraps his arms around her. She settles her head on his chest, and he strokes his fingers through her hair. She loves when he does that. She closes her eyes and listens to his heart beat. It doesn’t take long for exhaustion to start pulling at her again. 

“I love you,” she whispers into the darkness.

And then sleep consumes her.

* * *

Trixie’s hands are small but fierce as they grip Chloe’s hand like a vise. 

“You said I was the most important thing to you,” Trixie says, staring up at Chloe with an earnest expression. “You said I would always be the most important thing to you.”

“You are,” Chloe says, bending down to look at her daughter. “You are, Monkey. I promise. You have no idea how much I love you.”

Trixie scrunches her forehead the way she does when she’s angry. “But you left me.”

Chloe can barely breathe around the guilt in her chest. “I didn’t want to.”

“Then why did you?”

“Because it wasn’t you, baby. Something is wrong, okay? Something is wrong but I’m going to fix it. I promise.”

“What about me?” Lucifer’s voice asks.

Chloe straightens and turns to see him standing behind her. 

“You said you loved me,” he says, sounding wounded. “You said you wouldn’t lose faith.”

“I didn’t,” Chloe says, turning more fully toward him. “I haven’t. I love you.”

“How much?” he demands.

She frowns. “What?”

“How much do you love me?” he repeats. “Are you sure it’s enough?”

“Enough?” Chloe echoes. “What are you…?”

“You can’t love us both,” Trixie says. She tightens her hold on Chloe’s hand. “Mommy, listen. You can’t love us both.”

Chloe glances down at her daughter. “Of course I can.”

“No,” Lucifer says. He grabs her other hand and brushes his thumb over her fourth finger. “You have to choose, Detective.”

“No,” Chloe says, shaking her head. “I don’t want to choose.”

“Choose,” Lucifer repeats. 

“Choose,” Trixie echoes. 

Trixie tugs hard on Chloe’s hand, and Lucifer pulls on the other, and pain suddenly explodes in Chloe’s chest. Lucifer and Trixie’s voices get louder— _choose choose choose_ —and they’re pulling harder and harder, and then a deafening ripping sound fills the air. Chloe screams when she looks down and realizes that _she’s_ the one who’s ripping. Her chest is splitting open. They’re tearing her in half. She’s going to—

She snaps awake.

She bolts upward in bed, a strangled scream caught in her throat. Her hands fly up to her chest and she claws at her collarbone, yanking her shirt open, certain that she’s going to look down and see a jagged tear down the center of her body. 

But there’s nothing. Her chest is heaving and her skin is slick with sweat but she’s whole. 

It was just a dream.

She blinks into the darkness for a second, trying to get her bearings. When it finally sinks in that it was all a dream, the panic bleeds out of her in a rush. She feels hollowed out. Her eyes flood with warmth, and she doesn’t bother trying to keep the tears at bay. She exhales and curls forward, burying her head in her hands. 

She feels the mattress dip a little behind her, and then Lucifer’s arms wrap around her. His chest is warm against her back. She’s always been aware of how tall and broad he is, but it’s moments like this, when he envelops her completely in his embrace, that she realizes how much smaller she is than him. 

He nuzzles into the curve of her shoulder. “You had a nightmare,” he whispers. 

She opens her mouth to say _yes,_ but her voice catches in her throat and it comes out as more of a sob. 

He holds her tighter. “It’s part of the spell,” he murmurs. “It wasn’t real. None of it is real.”

She doesn’t know how he knows it’s part of the spell. Under normal circumstances she would ask, but she can’t bring herself to care about the details right now. It wasn’t real, but it _felt_ real. And unlike every other nightmare she’s ever had, the reality she’s waking up to isn’t better than what she dreamed. Trixie hates her, Dan pulled his gun on her, her colleagues are hunting her. She’s living a nightmare. 

She twists toward Lucifer and buries her face in his chest. His skin is warm against hers. He presses his lips against the top of her head and rubs his hand comfortingly over her back.

“I’m going to fix this for you, Detective,” he whispers into the darkness. “I promise.”

Chloe closes her eyes and breathes him in. 

“I know,” she whispers back.

* * *

Lucifer doesn’t go back to sleep.

The Detective does, though not immediately. He holds her for a little while, letting her catch her breath, and then he gently pulls her back down onto the bed. She curls her body into his. He wraps his arms around her and holds her tightly. She nuzzles closer to him, her nose nudging his collarbone. Her eyelashes flutter against his neck. She lifts her hand to wipe her eyes, but it’s too late—he can feel the wetness of her tears against his skin. 

He spent thousands of years in Hell, wandering hallways of ash and darkness with only his memory of her to keep him company. He often spoke to her as if she were beside him. It’s absurd, maybe, but it made him feel less lonely. He could picture her facial expressions, and imagine her voice, and sometimes if he concentrated hard enough, he could smell the scent of her perfume. On his darkest nights, he would promise her that if he came back to Earth—back to _her_ —he’d make sure she never had a reason to cry again. The tears she shed that day he said goodbye on his balcony would be the last tears she’d ever cry. 

He broke his promise. 

She falls asleep eventually. Her breathing evens out, and her body relaxes against his. The room is pitch black and silent and he’s tired. She’s warm against him, and the steady rise and fall of her chest as she breathes is a siren song calling him to sleep, but he can’t. His brain won’t turn off. 

Zatanna’s pronouncement that this was ancient magic helped him narrow the list of who might be responsible for their current situation. The Detective’s nightmare has whittled that list down to one. He hasn’t been sleeping with her long, but she has never had a nightmare when he’s been beside her. She’s never spoken of nightmares either. It’s possible that it was a result of stress, or that she has always struggled with nightmares and never mentioned it to him, but he doubts it. He is almost certain that this was new for her, and he is almost certain that he knows who did this to them. To _her._

The Detective shifts in his arms. She murmurs sleepily and then cuddles closer to him, and his throat tightens. She trusts him. She knows who he is, _what_ he is, and she’s not afraid to sleep in his arms. He should take comfort in that, maybe, but all he can think about is how all of this is his fault. 

He knows her well enough to know that she’d disagree. He has seen her comfort enough grieving families to know how her voice sounds when she says _this isn’t your fault._ But it _is_ his fault. If he’s right about who did this, then there’s no question that this was his doing. For once, at least, he can say that what he’s caused was born out of a genuine desire to do the right thing. To do good. But that’s no consolation. What is the point of doing right if it wounds the only person he cares for? Is goodness actually good if it inflicts pain? 

Back in L.A., Doctor Linda told him that being in a relationship meant putting the Detective first. She said that if he loved the Detective, then he needed to do what was best for her. But what’s best for her? What does she need?

_Not you._

His throat tightens again. His eyes are suddenly and inexplicably warm. It feels as though a massive boulder is sitting on his chest, pressing him down against the bed, and he can’t breathe under the weight of it. All he can think about is what she said all those years ago when Malcolm took her offspring.

_Trixie is all that matters._

He hated Malcolm. He hated him for so many reasons, but he hated him most for the darkness he’d put in the Detective’s eyes, that haunted look of fear and pain. It’s the same look she had in that beach parking lot, and inside the club, and at the motel. She didn’t look him in the eye after her nightmare, but he knows he would’ve seen it then too. 

This time, though, there’s no Malcolm to blame. This time, there’s only him. Lucifer Morningstar, Devil himself, partner and lover and root cause of every single tear she just shed. She’s too kind to tell him that she holds him responsible, but he knows she does. She has to. How could she not? He took her away from everyone she loves. Her child. Daniel. The Doctor, Ms. Lopez, the list goes on. Everyone she loves, everything she knows, all of it is gone, and all he gave her in return was…himself.

Not much of a trade.

But he can fix this. He told her he would. He gave her his word, and he intends to keep it, but he also intends to make sure that she doesn’t suffer in the meantime. There’s no reason for her to be on the run. She’s not the one everyone hates. She can go back home, be with the people she loves and do the job she’s so good at, and he’ll take care of the rest. He’ll fix what he broke, and then he’ll return to her and they can pick up where they left off.

If she still wants him after all this.

He pushes the thought away. He’ll cross that bridge when he comes to it. Right now, his focus should be on precisely what the Doctor said—doing what’s best for the Detective. He went back to Hell because it was his responsibility to rule, and abdicating his responsibility would have hurt her more than leaving her on that balcony. This is no different. It will hurt him to be away from her, but that’s what she needs. It’s what’s best for her.

And that’s all that matters.

* * *

When Chloe wakes again, she’s alone.

The room is pitch black and silent. She blinks into the darkness, confused. She doesn’t know what time they got here because she was asleep, but it had to have been in the early hours of the morning. She doesn’t know how long she slept, but surely the sun should have risen by now. Why is it so dark?

She picks her head up off a pillow that smells like Lucifer and squints at the numbers on the bedside clock nearby. She rubs her eyes and squints again just to be sure she’s seeing things correctly. 

It’s 5:30 pm. 

She slept all day. 

A sliver of light catches her eye, and after blinking blearily at it for a minute or so, she realizes it’s from a very large window covered by blackout curtains. She pushes the sheets away and stumbles out of bed and toward the window. 

She yanks the curtains open when she gets there and regrets it immediately. She winces and sighs at herself—what the hell did she expect, flinging curtains open like that?—and rubs her eyes against the sting of too much light too fast. When she drops her hands and gets a good look at what’s outside the window, though, her mouth falls open.

“Holy shit,” she croaks. 

She’s standing in a house that’s up on a hill. And not just any hill—a hill that looks out over _all_ of Las Vegas. In the distance, rearing up in front of a jagged backdrop of mountains, are the skyscrapers of The Strip. The rest of the city sprawls outward in lines and curves of streets and buildings. The sun is starting to set, so the sky above is a gorgeous blend of orange and pink. 

Her eyes trace over the cityscape stretched before her, and then she spots an absolutely massive house nearby. Its roof is covered in solar panels the size of basketball courts. She’s marveling at the sheer size of it until she realizes that the house she’s currently standing in might be even bigger. 

That’s when she finally notices that the window she’s peering out of is actually half of a set of French doors. She hesitates for a second, her hand hovering over the handle, and then pushes the door open. She steps outside and onto a huge terrace that appears to wrap around the entire second floor. The stone beneath her bare feet is cool and smooth. She walks out toward the edge, which is framed by a glass panelled railing, and looks down. 

Her mouth falls open again. 

Beneath the terrace is the largest private pool she’s ever seen. The far end has an infinity edge that overlooks the stunning view of the city in the distance. A paved walkway cuts directly through the middle of the pool. Glass walls on either side of the path hold the water at bay, and it leads to a sunken seating area in the center of the water. The edges of the seating area are lined with deep, cozy-looking couches covered in blankets and pillows. A fire pit sits in the middle, flames flickering merrily. And standing next to the fire, wearing a well-cut black suit and looking out at the city with a glass of whiskey in his hand, is Lucifer. 

Even with his back to her, he looks handsome as hell framed by the vivid colors of the sky. Longing aches in Chloe’s chest, a desire to be close enough to smell his cologne and feel the stubble on his jaw and taste the whiskey on his lips. She lingers for a second, wanting to memorize the way he looks with the setting sun and the city lights framing his body, and then turns away and heads back inside. 

She’s halfway across the bedroom when she notices the clothes. A heather gray t-shirt and a pair of dark navy jeans are folded neatly on an arm chair across from the bed. A black bomber jacket is hanging on a hanger nearby, and a pair of sensible black boots like the ones she wears to work are tucked beneath the chair. When she gets closer, she realizes there’s underwear and socks and a bra too, all folded neatly and apparently brand new. The tags are still on them. She checks the tag of the bra and discovers that it’s exactly the right size. She smiles. She doesn’t have to check the rest to know they’re all her size too. 

She runs her fingers over the satin fabric of the bomber jacket absently. She wants to get dressed and go downstairs and be with Lucifer, but she could _really_ use a shower. If she’s honest with herself, part of the reason she’s in such a hurry to get to him is that she’s afraid he’s going to leave her. She doesn’t like that. It’s okay that she’s afraid to lose him, but it’s not okay for fear to control her. She’s never let it control her before. She refuses to start now, no matter how messy her life is at the moment.

So, shower it is.

It takes her a few tries to find the bathroom. The first door she opens is a huge closet. Like, _huge._ She thinks it’s the size of her entire bedroom at home. The next door she opens is a sitting area. There’s a large sectional facing a TV mounted over a beautiful stone fireplace. The couch looks extremely comfortable, but all she can think about is how fast Trixie would stain the white fabric. The thought makes her ache. 

On the third try, she finally finds the bathroom. Just like the rest of the house, it’s beautiful. The walls and floor appear to be marble. The bathtub is huge—it could easily fit two adults—and the walk-in shower is even bigger. There are multiple shower heads and a long bench also made of marble. 

She does a double take when she realizes that the shampoo and conditioner she uses are sitting on a shelf inside. Her heart flutters in her chest. There’s only one reason shampoo that cheap is sitting in a shower this expensive, and that reason wears tailored Prada suits and drinks whiskey like it’s water. 

God, she loves him so much. 

She has to fiddle with the faucet for a while before she figures it out, but then she sheds Lucifer’s shirt and steps beneath the spray. The hot water feels amazing. She washes her hair and shaves her legs and forces herself to take her time and trust that Lucifer won’t leave no matter how long she takes. She smiles while she brushes her teeth because he bought her brand of toothpaste. There’s a small leather pouch with all her typical makeup choices inside too. She finds a hair dryer and dries her hair, then pulls it back into a ponytail. By the time she finally puts on the clothes he left out for her she feels much better, but she’s even more desperate to see him than she was before. 

Finding her way to the pool is another adventure. The house is absurdly large and absurdly beautiful. It has to be worth tens of millions of dollars. There’s a library filled with shelves and shelves of books. There are multiple bathrooms and multiple bedrooms and more than one sitting room. There’s a gym, and a gleaming Steinway piano near the dining room. The kitchen has not one but _two_ islands, a wall filled with dozens of bottles of very expensive wine, and a refrigerator that could hold enough food to feed the entire precinct. 

The whole back wall of the kitchen is made of accordion-style glass doors. They’re all pushed open to reveal the pool just beyond a covered patio. The sunset is in its final stages, and the city is glittering in the distance. 

Lucifer is still standing in the same spot. 

Chloe lets out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding. She makes her way toward him, forcing herself to walk at a normal pace, and descends the three steps down to the walkway that cuts through the pool. The glass holding the water back is as tall as her waist. It looks even cooler up close than it did when she was upstairs on the terrace. She’s never seen a sitting area sunken into the middle of a pool before. She wonders how much it cost to do this. Probably more than she makes in a year.

When she gets to the end of the walkway, Lucifer turns to face her. His glass is empty, and there’s an almost empty bottle of whiskey sitting nearby on a small table. He smiles when he sees her and sets his glass down next to the bottle. 

“Well good morning, Detective,” he greets. “Or good evening, as it were.”

“Hi,” she replies with a smile. She walks around the edge of the firepit to get to him. “Sorry I slept all day.”

“No apology needed.” His eyes flicker over her body. “I see you found your clothes. You look lovely.”

She stops in front of him. “I guess I should be grateful it was a normal bra and sensible boots instead of lingerie and heels,” she teases.

He arches an eyebrow. “Would you have worn lingerie if that’s what I left for you?”

She lifts a shoulder in a shrug. “Probably.”

He seems surprised, and then pleased. “Duly noted,” he murmurs, his eyes flickering briefly over her body again. 

Chloe lets him look for a moment, and then she steps into his space. She slides her arms around his torso and tips her head back to look at him. “Thank you.” 

Lucifer furrows his eyebrows. “For?”

“The clothes that are all my size. My shampoo in the shower.” 

He reaches behind her to tug lightly on her ponytail. “I thought I smelled it.” 

She thinks about that night a week ago when he told her that he liked the way her hair smells. Things seemed complicated then, but she’d give just about anything to go back to that type of complicated instead of what they’re dealing with now. 

She swallows around the sudden tightness in her throat. “Thank you for last night too,” she adds in a whisper. “When I had that dream.”

Emotion shivers across his expression but she can’t decipher it. Sadness, maybe? Or is it something darker? 

“I don’t have much experience in that arena,” he says quietly, almost apologetically. “As I said before, this is all quite new to me. So if I—”

“You were great,” she cuts him off. “Exactly what I needed.”

He lifts his hand to her face and brushes his thumb over her cheek, and she tilts her head into his palm. His eyes flicker over her face. “What did you dream of?” 

She thinks about how her chest cracked open in the dream, and how painful it was to be asked to choose between her soulmate and her kid. But she doesn’t dare tell him that. He’ll feel guilty, and she doesn’t want that.

“Trixie,” she says instead. 

That expression she can’t decipher shivers across his face again. “Are you worried for her?”

“She’s safe. Jax would never let anyone hurt her. And between Dan and my mom, she’ll be okay until I come back.”

Lucifer smiles sadly. “That doesn’t answer the question.”

Chloe exhales a heavy breath. “I’m always worried about her,” she admits. “Twenty years from now she’ll be grown and have kids of her own and I’ll still worry about her. I’m her mom. That’s how it works.”

“Would you worry less if you were with her instead of here?”

There’s something about the tone of his voice that makes her suddenly wary. “I don’t know,” she answers truthfully. She searches his eyes and doesn’t like what she sees there. “Does it matter?”

He reaches behind himself to unwrap her arms from around his body. “I’ve been thinking about our next move,” he says, squeezing her hands and then letting go. He’s smiling at her, but it doesn’t soften the blow of him shying away from her touch. 

She frowns. “Okay?”

He gestures at the couch closest to them. “Why don’t you sit down?”

She folds her arms over her chest. “No. I’m fine.”

“Please?”

Her wariness kicks up a notch. She doesn’t want to sit down—it feels like a mistake, somehow—but she doesn’t know how to refuse his polite request without coming across like a petulant child. 

She sits. He casts a longing glance at his empty glass and the bottle of whiskey, but sits next to her without refilling his glass. He’s at least two feet from her, but it feels like miles. It’s like the motel all over again, and she’s starting to worry. This is how he acts when he’s about to push her away.

“Lucifer,” she says, leaning toward him. He scoots back like she’s got some type of contagious disease, and it stings. “What’s wrong?”

“I gave you my word that I would fix this for you,” he replies. “And I want you to know that I meant it. I’ll do whatever it takes to make things right again.”

“I know that. What I don’t know is why you’re sitting so far away from me right now.”

He tugs at his jacket and avoids her gaze. “The dreams aren’t going to stop. Every time you fall asleep, you’ll have one. Perhaps more than one. And I believe they’ll grow worse with time.”

Chloe feels an icy shiver drill down her spine. They’re going to get worse? How could they possibly get _worse?_ But she doesn’t say that out loud.

“Okay,” she says instead. “You want to tell me how you know that?”

“Because I’m fairly certain I know who’s doing this.”

She waits, but he offers no further explanation. 

“Who?” she prompts. 

Lucifer leans back and crosses his legs. “He goes by many names. You may know a few of them, though much like me, his actual identity is far more complex than the stories you’ve likely heard.” 

“What kind of stories?” 

Lucifer folds his hands in his lap. “Have you heard of The Sandman?”

Chloe frowns. “The guy who puts people to sleep?”

“That’s the one,” he confirms with a nod. “I’ve never called him that myself, of course. Ridiculous name. I prefer his given name.”

“Which is...?”

“Dream.”

Chloe blinks at him. “His name is _Dream?_ "

“Yes.”

She folds her legs up underneath her. “I’m guessing it’s not a coincidence that he’s named Dream and I had a bad dream last night.”

“No.” 

“Is he celestial?”

Lucifer tilts his head. “Not in the way I am. He’s not one of my siblings, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“So then what is he?”

“Endless.”

Chloe stares at him. Lucifer stares back.

“What the hell does that mean?” she asks when it becomes clear he’s not going to elaborate.

Lucifer exhales heavily and looks out toward the city in the distance. “The Endless are, in simplest terms, the physical embodiment of natural forces. They’re immortal. They’ve existed for billions of years—long before this earth was created—and though they have their own realms in which they are sovereign, they also exist here on this earth in various capacities.”

“So they’re like...another race? Like, I’m human, and you’re celestial, and they’re Endless?”

“They are distinct from other beings, yes. But there are only seven of them.” He ticks their names off on his fingers. “Death, Destiny, Destruction, Desire, Delirium, Despair, and Dream. They’re siblings. And, if I’m being frank, they are even more dysfunctional than my siblings and I. You would _not_ want to be invited to an Endless family dinner.”

Chloe blinks. She didn’t think it was even _possible_ to be more dysfunctional than Lucifer’s family.

“They embody the forces for which they are named,” Lucifer continues, oblivious to her thought. “Dream, for instance, is the master of dreams in all of their manifestations. Fantasies and nightmares, obviously. But his control also extends to sleep and insomnia and a few other areas.”

“That’s how you knew my dream was part of the spell,” Chloe realizes.

Lucifer nods. “Yes. When Zatanna said she sensed ancient magic, I suspected it could be Dream’s handiwork. Your nightmare confirmed my suspicions.”

“Wait, Dream is _magic?_ ”

“In his own way, yes. A dream, by definition, is something that isn’t real. So if he controls dreams, then he controls anything and everything that’s not reality. In doing so, he can shape and warp _actual_ reality. All he needs to do is create a dream and plant it in someone’s mind, and their behavior will shift in response.”

Chloe frowns. “So everyone we thought was infected by a spell…”

“Is actually dreaming,” Lucifer finishes. “You remember how Zatanna said that Ms. Lopez’s entire perception of reality had shifted?”

Chloe nods.

“She was correct. Ms. Lopez is living in our reality, the _true_ reality, but she’s seeing it through the lens of a dream. She’s responding to memories and feelings and fears that don’t actually exist. It’s the same with the others. Doctor Linda, Daniel, your offspring, all of them are behaving in response to a dream.” 

“But they’re not asleep.”

“They don’t need to be. The Endless are extraordinarily powerful, Detective. Dream is no exception. He could have cast a waking dream over the entire state of California if he so desired.”

“Is that why Zatanna couldn’t undo it? Because he’s so powerful?”

“Zee is incredibly talented,” Lucifer says. “I’ve seen her do remarkable things. But on her own, she doesn’t stand a chance against someone like Dream.”

“What about that John guy you asked her to call?”

Lucifer flicks a piece of lint off his knee. “John Constantine.”

“Yeah. Who is he?”

“Depends on who you ask,” Lucifer says with a smirk. “Conman, sorcerer, and occult detective are all apt descriptions. I have a friend on another earth who insists that the term _jackass_ was invented solely to describe Constantine. I tend to agree.” 

“Another earth?” Chloe repeats dumbly. She suddenly feels like her brain is short circuiting. 

Lucifer’s smirk fades into a kind smile. “I can attempt to explain the multiverse, if you wish. But I’ll need some paper and a pen. I find it’s better to have visual aids when discussing dimensional theory.”

Chloe shakes her head. “No, I...I think the multiverse can wait for another day.”

Lucifer nods. “Of course.”

Chloe struggles for a second to find her way back to the original thread of their conversation. “So this Constantine guy, is he powerful enough to get rid of what Dream planted in everyone?”

“No,” Lucifer says, shaking his head. “Constantine is powerful, but not to that extent. The only beings who can undo what Dream did without causing bloodshed or a massive cosmic incident are my father and Dream himself.”

“So then why do we need Constantine?”

“Because I need to be sure that my theory is correct. And then I need Constantine to deliver a message to Death.”

Chloe gapes at him. “ _Death?_ ”

“Dream’s sister,” Lucifer says. “Delightful woman. Her brother will do whatever she asks. And she’ll do what I ask, if I ask in the right way. Which I fully intend to do, I assure you.”

Chloe is pretty sure her brain has stopped short circuiting and is now melting out of her ears. 

“Okay,” she says slowly. “So let me just...let me summarize this to make sure I’ve got this right. We’re going to ask a conman, who is also a sorcerer, to call the personification of Death, and ask her to ask her brother to stop making all the people in our lives dream that they’re living in an alternate reality where you’re evil and I need to be saved from you.”

“That’s what I’m going to do, yes.”

“Right,” Chloe says, scratching the back of her head. “Okay. That’s really…” She frowns. “Wait. What do you mean that’s what _you’re_ going to do? Why do you keep saying _I_ instead of _we?_ ” 

Lucifer lifts his chin. “Because I believe it’s best if I do this alone.”

For a second, all Chloe can do is stare at him. She’s hoping she misheard, but it’s obvious she didn’t. There’s determination in his eyes, the same determination she saw the night he went back to Hell, and a tidal wave of fear and frustration and hurt washes over her.

“So what am I supposed to do?” she asks, trying to keep her voice even. “Sit in this giant house and twiddle my thumbs until you come back?”

“If you’d like to stay here, you’re more than welcome to,” Lucifer replies. “No one will bother you. But I assumed you would wish to return to Los Angeles. I’d be happy to arrange a flight if you aren’t interested in driving.”

Chloe gapes at him. “You...you want me to go back to L.A. without you?”

“I think that would be best for you, yes.”

Chloe’s temper flares. “Why the hell would that be what’s best for me?”

Lucifer looks unsure of himself for the first time since they started this conversation. “Well you said you were worried about your offspring, did you not?”

“Yeah, because she’s under a spell.” 

Lucifer opens his mouth, but she waves him off. 

“Dream,” she corrects. “Whatever. The point is, she’s not herself. None of them are.”

“And I intend to fix that. But you needn’t suffer in the meantime.”

“Suffer?” Chloe repeats. “You think sending me back to L.A. alone is going to prevent me from suffering?”

“You wouldn’t be alone, Detective. Everyone you love is—”

“Not everyone.”

Her voice is sharp, and that seems to catch him off guard. He stares at her, his mouth hanging open slightly. Chloe can feel frustration simmering in her veins, but she takes a deep breath and tries to calm down. He’s still learning how to be in a relationship. She needs to be patient with him. 

“Lucifer,” she says gently, reaching out to put her hand on top of his. “I get that you’re trying to make this easier for me, and I appreciate that. But we’re partners, okay? We’re together. This is happening to _both_ of us, and I—”

“No,” Lucifer says, yanking his hand away. “This is happening to _you,_ Detective. This is _hurting_ you. I won’t stand for that when it is in my power to ease your pain.” 

“But going back to L.A. without you won’t do that,” she says, struggling to tamp down her frustration. “And it won’t ease your pain, either.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I’m not in pain.”

Her temper finally snaps, and so does she. “Don’t lie to me.”

He blinks at her in surprise, and then his expression hardens. “I don’t lie.”

“You don’t always tell the truth, either. Not to me, and definitely not to yourself.”

“What on _earth_ are you talking about?” 

“You do this all the time. You’ve done it as long as I’ve known you. You think if you just ignore how you feel then it means the feelings don’t exist. But that’s not true, Lucifer. It’s not healthy. Stop pretending like this isn’t hard for you.”

Lucifer clenches his jaw. “Any emotion I might be feeling pales in comparison to what you—”

“Bullshit. I was there, remember? I saw the look on your face when Trixie went after you. And what Linda said was—”

“The Doctor spoke the truth,” Lucifer interrupts harshly. “As did Daniel and Ms. Lopez and Mazikeen and your child. You want the truth, Detective? The truth is that the alternate reality of this dream is predicated on _actual_ reality. It wasn’t hard to convince your loved ones that I’ll hurt you because I _already have._ And now I’m doing it again.”

“How are you—” 

“Dream came after you because of _me,”_ he says, pointing at himself. “If you weren’t associated with me, none of this would have happened. Can’t you see that? I put you in this position. I _forced_ you to walk away from your child. And for what? For _nothing._ ”

Chloe reaches for him again. “That isn’t true, Lucifer.” 

“Yes, it is,” he insists, recoiling out of her reach. “You’re too kind to say it, but I’m not. Keeping you with me despite what I’ve caused would be the height of selfishness, and I refuse to be more selfish than I already have been. I _refuse._ ” 

He gets to his feet and stalks toward the whiskey bottle before she can say anything. She watches him empty the rest of the bottle into his glass and then guzzle it. When he’s finished, he glares at the glass as if he’s angry it’s no longer full and then slams it down onto the table. He mutters a curse and then shoves his hands in his pockets and stares out at the city in the distance.

Chloe’s heart aches for him. She gets to her feet. “Lucifer,” she calls gently. 

He ignores her. She takes a step toward him.

“This isn’t your fault.”

“Now who isn’t telling the whole truth?” he spits, whirling around to face her. “Every heartbreak you’ve endured over the last few years has been my doing in some way, shape, or form. I turned your life upside down long before we got stuck in this bloody nightmare, and now I’ve cost you what matters most to you. You’re better off without me.”

She shakes her head. “That’s not true.” 

“It _is_ true.” 

“No, it’s not. It wasn’t that long ago that I actually was without you, remember? You went back to Hell, and I had to live without you, and it was _awful,_ Lucifer. I hated every second of it. And I know you felt the same.”

He glares at the skyline. “Who cares how I felt?” 

“I do.” 

He snaps his eyes toward her. She holds his gaze until he looks away. For a long moment, there’s nothing but silence between them.

“You haven’t cost me anything,” she points out eventually. “I didn’t walk away from Trixie forever. It’s only until we make things right. This isn’t permanent.”

Lucifer clenches his jaw and says nothing.

Chloe takes another step toward him. “I know you don’t want me to go back to L.A. without you,” she says softly. “I know you want me to stay. And I _want_ to stay, Lucifer. I want to help you fix this. So stop trying to push me away.”

“It doesn’t matter what I want, Detective,” he says, turning toward her. “The Doctor was right. You must come first. You _deserve_ to come first. If I care about you as much as I profess, then all that should matter to me is giving you what you need.”

Chloe lifts her chin. “Fine. Then ask me what I need.”

He hesitates, and she knows it’s because he knows what she’s going to say. “I don’t need to,” he says eventually, shaking his head. “I already know. You need your child. You need your job. You need your friends and your family and the life you’ve built for yourself.”

“That’s not my life right now,” she says, gesturing into the distance and trying not to sound exasperated. “It’s not real. I don’t want something that isn’t real.”

“The only thing that isn’t real is the way they feel about _me._ Their feelings about _you_ haven’t changed. There’s nothing stopping you from going back.”

“Really?” she demands. “Nothing?”

He sighs at her as if she’s working his last nerve. “Detective,” he starts. 

She doesn’t let him finish. “How come you never ask me what I want?”

He blinks at her. “I beg your pardon?”

“You ask everyone else,” she says, folding her arms over her chest. “You’ve asked half the population of L.A. at this point. But you never ask me.”

He frowns. “Yes I have. Our first case—”

“That’s not what I mean, Lucifer. I mean recently. I mean _now._ Ask me what I want right now.”

He presses his lips together and says nothing. She waits, but he doesn’t speak. Her temper flares again.

“You won’t do it because you’re scared,” she accuses.

He scoffs at her.

“You’re scared,” she repeats, pointing at him. “You’re _terrified._ Because you know what I’m going to say, and you know it’s true, and we both know it’s _exactly_ what you want to hear. You’re trying to be noble, and I love you for it, Lucifer, I really do, but that’s not what I want, okay? I don’t want a knight in shining armor to save the day for me. I want a partner. I want _my_ partner.”

“Your partner is a monster,” he says, his eyes flashing briefly red. “You don’t know what you’re asking for, Detective. You accept what you’ve seen, but you haven’t seen it all.”

“Then show me the rest!” she says, holding out her hands. “Let me in. _Please._ ”

Longing shivers briefly over his expression and then evaporates so fast she isn’t even sure she saw it. “Now’s not the time for that. I need to fix this for you. And you need to go home.”

“That’s not what I want.”

“What you want and what you need are two different things.”

“And you don’t get to decide either of them.”

He frowns at her. “Come again?”

“You said I have free will, remember? You said I get to choose.”

“Detective—”

“I choose you, Lucifer. I’m not going back to L.A. without you. I’m staying with you, and we’re going to fix this together, because that’s how relationships work. That’s how love works. You don’t quit when things get messy and hard.”

Lucifer seems stunned. He stares at her, apparently speechless. Chloe holds his gaze, unrepentant and unfazed. 

“You’re making a mistake,” he says eventually, his voice quiet. “I’m not worth all this.”

“I disagree. It’s my choice. And I choose you.”

He stares at her for a long time, and then he lifts his chin defiantly. “And what if I choose differently?”

She frowns. “What do you mean?”

“What if I choose to fix our current predicament on my own?” He rolls his shoulders back, and his wings suddenly unfurl with a soft _whoosh._ He straightens, towering over her. “You’re not the only one with free will, Detective. What if I choose to do what’s best for you whether you like it or not?”

It takes Chloe a second to realize what he’s saying. When she does, though, it feels like a punch to the gut.

“You…” Her voice catches and she can’t finish. She clears her throat and takes a deep breath and tries again. “You mean you’d leave me?” 

“To give you what you’re too bloody selfless to take for yourself? Yes. In a heartbeat.” 

The Vegas skyline in the distance suddenly seems like a taunt. Chloe thinks of his furniture covered in sheets and all the calls and texts he never answered. She thinks of the first time he ever stood before her with his wings unfurled like they are now. She thinks of last night, when she had to beg him to stay with her, and a million other times when all she wanted was him and he was nowhere to be found. 

Her chest feels like it’s cracking open. Her nightmare is becoming a reality, and it hurts even worse than she thought it would. 

“You’re just going to keep doing this, aren’t you?” she whispers.

Lucifer frowns. “Doing what?”

“Leaving me. Breaking my heart.”

His expression softens. “Detective, I’m not trying—”

“But you are.” Frustration is welling up in her throat and tears are welling up in her eyes. “You’re standing there with your wings out, telling me that you’re going to leave me whether I like it or not, because what you want matters more than what I want.”

He looks agonized. “Detective...”

“It always has,” she forges on, tears spilling down her cheeks. She swipes at them angrily. “No matter what I say, or what I do, or what I ask for, you just keep doing whatever you want.”

“Detective,” he repeats softly, stepping toward her.

“That’s not my name,” she snaps, stepping away from him. “If you’re going to leave me again, the least you could do is say my name.”

Guilt shivers across his face. “I know it upset you when I left you to go back to Hell—” 

“I’m not talking about you going back to Hell. I’m talking about you ghosting me and marrying a damn stripper.”

Lucifer looks stunned. “What?”

“You said you wanted to prove yourself to me,” she says, brandishing her finger at him. Her hands are shaking. “You said we were real. And then I almost died and you just...you just _left._ You let me fall in love with you and then you married someone else. Do you have any idea how much that hurt?”

Her tears are coming so fast now that he’s a blur standing in front of her. She wipes her eyes and tries to get control of herself but she can’t. Her chest has cracked wide fucking open, and Lucifer has her heart in his hands, and he’s breaking it all over again. It’s going to shatter in his fist just like that whiskey glass in his penthouse. 

“I didn’t want to hurt you,” he murmurs, sounding devastated. “I was trying to protect you.”

“Protect me from _what?_ ” 

He doesn’t answer her. 

“Is that what you think you’re doing right now? You’re hurting me to protect me? Because this _hurts,_ Lucifer. And this isn’t like the dream. _You’re_ doing this. You’re _choosing_ this.”

He still doesn’t answer her. He won’t look at her either. He’s staring at the ground and he won’t fight with her—he won’t fight _for_ her—and something inside of her shatters. 

“You know who else does this?” she asks through her tears, curling her hands into fists because they’re still shaking. “You know who makes decisions for people regardless of what they want because he thinks he knows what’s best? Your father. You’re treating me _exactly_ like he treats you. And you know what? You’re right. It feels like shit.”

The words hang in the air. Lucifer stares at her, his eyes wide and his hands clenched into fists just like hers, and for a second she thinks he’s going to explode at her for suggesting he’s like his dad. 

But he doesn’t. He blinks at her. His chest rises and falls slowly. And then he just...deflates. His wings wilt, dropping gracefully toward the ground until the bottom feathers brush the stones. His shoulders curl forward. He hangs his head and closes his eyes.

“You’re right,” he whispers, his voice barely audible. 

He rolls his shoulders and his wings disappear with a soft _whoosh._ He staggers toward the nearest couch. He collapses onto the cushions, his elbows resting on his knees, and then buries his head in his hands. 

Chloe stares at him, stunned. The sun is starting to sink past the horizon, and the fading light combined with the flickering flames of the fire pit make shadows dance around him. She wonders if this is what he looked like in Hell—surrounded by shadows and flames, broken and alone on a throne he never wanted. 

“Lucifer,” she breathes. 

He shakes his head but doesn’t look at her. 

She couldn’t stay away from him if she tried. She closes the distance between them, steps into the space between his legs, and reaches for him. Her vision is blurring with tears again. She slides her hands over his shoulders. He stiffens beneath her touch but doesn’t pull away, and she doesn’t pull back. She leans forward until his head is pressing against her sternum, and then buries her face in his hair as she wraps her arms around him. 

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, closing her eyes and breathing him in. The scent of his hair is familiar and comforting. “I’m so sorry, Lucifer.”

She feels him shake his head against her chest. “Don’t apologize,” he whispers, his voice breaking. “You didn’t...” He trails off and his body shudders like he’s trying to contain a sob. “I’m sorry,” he chokes. “I’m sorry for all of it.”

She leans back a little and lifts her hands to his cheeks. “Look at me,” she whispers. 

He raises his head. His eyes are glassy and rimmed red. She thinks it’s the first time she’s ever seen him cry. Her whole body aches with the urge to soothe and comfort him. 

“Do you remember when you told me that there was a Hell loop like Lux?” she asks quietly. 

He nods. 

“That’s L.A. for me right now. It looks like home, but it’s not. Those aren’t my people. You said that, remember? At the beach, you said that Trixie wasn’t Trixie, and you were right. They aren’t the people that I love. And if you make me go back there without you, I’m going to feel just like you did in that loop.”

He curls his fingers around her hips and squeezes. “I don’t want that.” 

“Then tell me what you do want,” she murmurs, threading her fingers through his hair. “Not what you think you should want, or what you think I need. What do you want, Lucifer?” 

“You,” he says without hesitation. He releases her hips and wraps his arms around her instead, pulling her closer and clinging to her with his chin pressed into her stomach as he gazes up at her. “I want to do this with you. I want to keep you.” 

She smiles and scratches her nails lightly along the back of his head. “Well then I guess we want the same thing, don’t we?” 

He stares at her like she’s just offered him the world. “How can you want me after all this? After everything?” 

She cups his face in her hands. “How could I not?”

His eyes are brimming. He sucks in an unsteady breath.

She bends forward. “I see you,” she whispers, holding his gaze. “And I love you. You and me, Lucifer. That’s what I believe in. Even if you don’t.”

He breathes her name—her first name—and it sounds like the prayer of a broken, desperate man. She aches all over again. She searches for something else to say, something that will make him understand just how deeply, irrevocably in love with him she is, but she can’t put it into words. There aren’t any words strong enough to contain it. 

She ducks forward and kisses him instead. He’s hesitant at first but she kisses him purposefully, exactly the way he likes, and his mouth grows more insistent against hers.

He pulls her into his lap, his palms smoothing upward over the curve of her waist. She settles on top of him, bracketing his hips with her knees, and drapes her arms around his neck. He whispers her name again. She’s pushing the jacket from his shoulders when a faint _pop_ echoes behind her. 

Chloe pulls back from Lucifer’s lips, frowning, and then a British voice she doesn’t recognize cuts through the night.

“Well, Zee did warn me that I might find you two _in flagrante delicto._ ”

Chloe scrambles off of Lucifer and whirls around, her hand flying to her empty hip where she usually has a gun. 

Standing on the other side of the fire pit is a scruffy looking blond man. He’s wearing a white shirt, a loose crimson tie, and a tan trench coat. When their eyes meet, he sizes her up with a smirk. 

“You must be the Queen of Hell I’ve heard so much about.”

Chloe sputters at him, shocked.

Lucifer materializes at her side, tall and imposing. “She has nothing to do with that place,” he growls. “Don’t associate her with it in name or deed.”

The man pulls his hands out of his pockets and holds them in the air. “All right, mate. Don’t get your knickers in a twist. I wasn’t trying to insult her honor.”

“Who the hell are you?” Chloe says, finally finding her voice.

The man grins at her. “I’m the answer to your prayers.”

Chloe looks at Lucifer because that doesn’t answer her question. 

Lucifer sighs. “Detective, allow me to introduce John Constantine.”


	17. Seventeen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the love guys :)

“It’s Constan _tine_ ,” John Constantine says, narrowing his eyes at Lucifer. “And you bloody well know that.”

“Do I?” Lucifer says with a sneer. 

Constantine seems unamused. “I’m here to do you a favor, mate. You might watch your mouth for once.”

“You’re here for Zatanna,” Lucifer corrects. “And you won’t leave until you know her debt has been paid. So spare me the threats, Johnny boy. You’re stuck here whether you like what I have to say or not.”

Constantine glares. “Now listen here, you—”

“Okay,” Chloe cuts him off, stepping forward to slide between him and Lucifer before things get out of hand. “Can you guys just, like, _not_ do this right now?”

“He started it,” Lucifer says petulantly. 

“Thanks,” Chloe says dryly, shooting him a look over her shoulder. “That’s exactly the kind of maturity I was looking for.”

Lucifer has the grace to look a little abashed. Chloe turns back to Constantine and finds him smirking. 

“Zee told me you had him on a leash,” he says. “Didn’t believe her, but clearly I should’ve.”

“He’s not on a leash,” Chloe says, putting her hand on Lucifer’s arm when he steps forward angrily. He stills beneath her touch. “And if he's going to watch his mouth, then so are you. Act your age, yeah?”

Constantine bows his head. “My apologies, love.”

“Don’t call me that,” Chloe says before she can stop herself. “He calls me that.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Chloe sees Lucifer snap his head in her direction. She doesn’t look at him, though she feels a slight flush rise to her cheeks. She thinks at some point, she’s going to have to tell him how much she likes when he calls her that. Though it’s probably obvious at this point, since she all but begged him to say it last night. 

“Does he now,” Constantine says quietly, glancing between them with clear interest. He smirks at Lucifer. “Never thought I’d see the day.”

“Yes, that seems to be the consensus,” Lucifer says, straightening his jacket. “I assume Zatanna filled you in on all the pertinent details?”

“Was a bit of a show and tell, actually.” 

“And?”

“And you’ve gotten yourself into quite a mess, Luci.”

“That’s helpful, thank you,” Lucifer says, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Whatever would we do without such insightful analysis?”

Chloe frowns. “Wait. What do you mean _show and tell?_ ”

“I mean I met a few of your biggest fans,” Constantine replies. “They were quite insistent that you deserve better than the likes of him. I can’t say I disagree.”

For a second, Chloe has no idea what he’s talking about. Whenever she hears the word _fans,_ she thinks of the creepy guys who recognize her from _Hot Tub High School._ But then she realizes who he’s talking about, and all the breath rushes out of her lungs. 

“You saw my daughter?” she demands, taking a step forward. “How? When? Is she okay?”

Remorse flickers across Constantine’s face. “No, I’m sorry, lo—” He catches himself and clears his throat. “I’m sorry, Detective. Your daughter is under the careful watch of the LAPD, and it would’ve been close to impossible to get her alone. That, and Zee was quite insistent that we leave her be to avoid retraumatizing her. She wasn’t one of the people we sought out.”

Disappointment washes over Chloe, followed by a tidal wave of guilt. _Retraumatizing her_ implies Trixie was traumatized. And she was, wasn’t she? Her fear of Lucifer might have been planted by a supernatural being, but she didn’t know that. To her, it was all real. She was afraid and upset and she wanted her mom, and Chloe abandoned her. 

Lucifer smooths his hand over her back the way he did last night after her nightmare. Chloe bites her lip and forces herself to swallow the emotion that’s welling up in her throat like vomit.

“Who did you see?” Lucifer asks Constantine, his hand still rubbing over Chloe’s shoulder blades.

“Tiny little brunette at Zee’s club,” Constantine answers as he pulls a pack of cigarettes out of his coat. “Talks a mile a minute. Helen, I think.”

“Ella,” Chloe corrects. 

Constantine nods at her. “Right. Ella.” 

“You can’t smoke here,” Lucifer says. 

Constantine freezes with a cigarette halfway to his mouth. “Why not?”

“Because the Detective doesn’t like the smell.”

Constantine glances at Chloe.

“It’s fine,” Chloe says, shaking her head. “I don’t mind.”

“It most certainly is not fine,” Lucifer says. “This is our home. No smoking.”

His emphasis on _our home_ draws Chloe’s eyes up to his face, but only momentarily. 

“We’re outside for Christ’s sake,” Constantine says incredulously. 

“I don’t care if we’re on the bloody _moon,_ ” Lucifer says, straightening to his full height. “She hates the smell and I won’t have her smelling it. Now you either put those away, or I’ll shove them down your throat one by one and then pull them out of your ass and feed them to you again.”

“Lucifer,” Chloe murmurs. 

“It’s all right, Detective,” Constantine says, shoving the cigarettes back in his pocket with a glare. “I can behave even if he can’t.”

Lucifer seems unfazed by the insult. 

“I paid a visit to Maze,” Constantine continues, still glaring at Lucifer. “She looked a little worse for the wear. Surprised to hear that was your doing, considering what you were willing to sacrifice on her behalf the last time I did you a favor.”

Chloe glances at Lucifer again. He avoids her gaze. “I was looking for answers.”

“Did you find any? Or was she too busy bleeding to speak?”

Lucifer’s expression darkens. “I wasn’t aware you cared for demons. In fact, last I checked, you made a living hunting them.”

“I make a living hunting evil,” Constantine corrects. His eyes flicker over Lucifer with disdain. “In all its forms.”

Chloe bristles at the implication, but Lucifer laughs. “I seem to remember you saying something similar the last time I was with you and Zatanna. Although, you two weren’t together for much longer after that, were you? Apparently she realized your judgment is suspect.”

It’s Constantine’s turn to bristle. “Don’t speak of what you don’t know, Luci.”

“You should follow your own advice, John. You don’t know Maze. She has a history of working with my enemies, and I had every right to assume she’d taken up with one again. I didn’t realize it was magic until well after I started questioning her.”

“Questioning her,” Constantine repeats with a snort. “Is that what they call it where you’re from? Where I’m from we have a different name for it. Lightbringer my arse. You’re nothing but darkness, mate.”

“Oh it’s light you want, is it?” Lucifer says. He steps away from Chloe and holds his hands up. “Let’s see if we can’t brighten this place up a bit then, hm?”

“Lucifer,” Chloe hisses. She wraps her fingers around his forearm and squeezes. She can feel the heat of his body even through the fabric of his shirt and jacket, and she wonders how close he is to going supernova again. 

Lucifer huffs and looks down at her. “For Dad’s sake, Detective, why can’t you leash _him_ instead of _me?_ ” 

“Because I don’t care about him,” Chloe says, tightening her hold on his arm. “I care about _you._ And you’re not _leashed,_ okay? Can we drop this sexist bullshit about who wears the pants or carries the leash or whatever? You want to light him up with your laser beam hands, fine. Be my guest. But he’s the best chance we’ve got at fixing this, and you said that’s what you wanted. You gave me your word.”

“Laser beam hands?” Constantine says incredulously. 

Neither Chloe nor Lucifer pay him any attention. Lucifer stares at Chloe, clearly frustrated, but she stares back unflinchingly. Finally, he sighs. 

“Fine,” he mumbles, dropping his arms. He fusses with his jacket and then huffs again as if to make sure she knows he’s annoyed. 

Chloe rises to her toes and brushes a kiss over the underside of his jaw. “Thank you,” she says softly.

He goes rigid. When she drops back down to her feet, he visibly relaxes and gives her a brief, half smile. 

Satisfied that he’s not about to barbecue their guest with his newfound light powers, Chloe turns her attention to Constantine. 

The sorcerer holds his hands up in a placating gesture when she narrows her eyes at him. “Detective—” 

“Stop talking.” 

Constantine closes his mouth. Chloe can see Lucifer smirking out of the corner of her eye, but she ignores him. 

“Look, you guys obviously don’t like each other. And normally, I’d feel bad about asking you to work together. But you know what? I don’t care right now. I don’t care what he did to you, and I don’t care what you did to him, and I don’t care how either of you feel about it. All I care about is fixing this damn spell and getting back to my kid. So are you going to help us or not?”

Constantine studies her for a moment, and then he smiles. “I can see why Zee likes you.”

“Is that a yes?” 

He nods. “Yes. I’m at your service, Detective.”

“Great. So did you see anyone besides Ella and Maze?”

“Your doctor friend,” Constantine replies. “Zatanna said that you thought she was fighting the spell. That intrigued me, and I wanted to see it for myself, so we paid her a visit.”

“Was I wrong about her fighting it?” 

“No, you were spot on. It’s quite remarkable, actually. I’ve only seen that kind of resistance a few times before. And never from a human with no magical ability.”

“Perhaps her resistance can be explained by the fact that she carried and gave birth to a celestial child,” Lucifer suggests. 

Constantine tilts his head. “It’s possible there are residual effects.” His gaze flickers to Chloe. “Wouldn’t be the first time that a touch of the divine made a human immune to something.”

“Did you see anyone else?” Lucifer asks.

“No. I saw all that I needed with those three.”

“And what’s the verdict? Who’s the culprit?”

“There’s no signature in the magic,” Constantine says with a sigh. “But it’s ancient and powerful, and that narrows the list considerably. As does the flicker in their eyes. I assume you noticed that?”

“Yeah,” Chloe says. “Blue and silver.”

Constantine nods. “Exactly. I’ve seen it before. It’s the work of Morpheus.” 

“Are you certain?” Lucifer asks.

“I’d bet my coat on it.”

“Your coat?” Chloe says incredulously.

Constantine grins and plucks at the edges of his trench coat. “I’m quite fond of this coat.” 

“Dad knows why,” Lucifer mutters, eyeing the coat with distaste. 

“Not all of us spend hours in front of a mirror every morning,” Constantine retorts.

Lucifer grins wickedly. “And it shows.”

Chloe sighs at them. They both look briefly sheepish.

“Who’s Morpheus?” she asks. 

“Dream,” Lucifer replies. “They’re one in the same. Morpheus is just another one of his names.” 

“Is he who you had in mind when you told Zee you thought you knew who it was?” Constantine asks.

“Yes,” Lucifer confirms. “The effects of the spell are very much in line with what he’s capable of. And he and I have a history that gives him a clear motive.”

Chloe remembers what he said a few minutes ago— _Dream came after you because of me_ —and she turns to look at him. “What history?” 

Lucifer looks uncomfortable. He shifts from one foot to the other and fiddles with his cufflink “It’s a long story. The upshot is that we’ve had several interactions over the course of millennia, and they were all less than enjoyable.”

“That’s usually what happens when you put two blokes with egos the size of the universe in the same room,” Constantine mutters with a snort.

Chloe shoots him a look. He holds up his hands in an unspoken apology. She turns back to Lucifer. 

“So he’s doing this just because he doesn’t like you?”

“Not quite. Your involvement seems to indicate that he’s exacting his revenge for the last encounter we had.”

Chloe frowns. “What does that mean?”

Lucifer takes a deep breath. “Dream had a lover,” he says, sliding his hands into his pockets. “Her name was Nada. She refused to join him in his realm for the rest of eternity, so he sent her to Hell.”

Chloe blinks at him, stunned. “Wait. She didn’t want to marry him so he sent her to _Hell?_ ”

“Yes.”

“So you knew her.”

“I did,” Lucifer confirms. “I still do, I suppose. She’s still down there.”

“Was she evil when she was alive?” 

Lucifer shakes his head. “No. She has plenty of guilt, but it’s...well, it’s like the guilt you occasionally express. It’s misplaced. She’s taken responsibility for things that aren’t hers to claim. My father has a system for ensuring that such souls aren’t misplaced for eternity when they die, but Dream bypassed that when he damned her.” 

Chloe gapes at him. She thinks about what she knows of Hell—the ash and the darkness and the loops designed to torture—and a deep sense of horror wells up in her chest.

“That’s not fair,” she murmurs. “She doesn’t belong down there.”

“I agree.”

“Well can’t you, like, set her free? You’re the king.” 

“That’s not how it works, Detective. There are rules built into the fabric of Hell that are beyond my control. Only my father can break or bend them.” 

“But you said that it was possible for souls to leave,” she insists. “You said people could walk out of their loops.”

“They can. But only if they let go of their guilt. It’s never been done. And I can’t do it for her.” 

“So she just gets tortured for the rest of eternity because her boyfriend was a jerk?” Chloe exclaims. “How is that justice?”

“It’s not,” Lucifer says quietly. “But she isn’t being tortured, Detective. I made her as comfortable as possible, I promise you.”

There’s a faint hint of anguish threaded through his voice, and it gives Chloe pause. She stops focusing on her own anger and focuses on the man in front of her, and she immediately sees it in his eyes. 

Guilt. 

“Lucifer,” she breathes.

“I have absolute control over the loops. I tried to make hers as close to her version of Paradise as I could. I did my best, Detective.”

“I know,” she soothes, stepping toward him. “I know you did. I’m not blaming you.”

“She was happy last I saw her,” he insists, sounding increasingly desperate. “Not as happy as she would be if it wasn’t an illusion, I’m sure, but I—”

“Lucifer,” Chloe cuts him off firmly. “I know.” She reaches up and holds his face in her hands the same way she had just before Constantine showed up. “It’s not your fault, babe. None of this is your fault.”

He stares down at her, desperation still in his eyes, and Chloe holds his gaze and brushes her thumbs over the stubble on his cheeks and waits. He exhales slowly after a moment, and then he wraps his hands around her forearms.

“I like that,” he murmurs. 

Chloe frowns. “Like what?”

“When you call me that.”

Chloe blinks at him for a moment, confused. And then she realizes what he’s saying—the Devil likes it when she calls him _babe_ —and she smiles. “Yeah?”

He smiles too. “Yes.”

Warmth floods through Chloe’s body. She feels like she’s going to melt into a puddle. God, she loves him so much. 

She’s pulling his face down toward hers when Constantine clears his throat. 

“Yeah, still here,” he says dryly. “If you could save the snogging for later, that’d be aces.”

Chloe presses her lips together as heat rises in her cheeks. She drops her hands from Lucifer’s face and scoots a more respectable distance away from him. 

“Sorry,” she says to Constantine. She clears her throat and glances up at Lucifer. “What were you saying?”

“I haven’t the slightest idea,” he murmurs. His gaze trails down her body purposefully, and Chloe feels a different kind of heat flare deep in her body. 

“You were explaining why Morpheus hates you,” Constantine says pointedly. 

Lucifer sighs and looks away from Chloe. “Dream came to his senses after his sister, Death, pointed out the injustice of his actions. He came to fetch Nada and undo what he’d done. But she didn’t want to go. He appealed to me, and asked that I alter her loop to take the form of Hell rather than Paradise. He thought that might inspire her to leave with him.”

“But you refused,” Chloe guesses.

He nods. “I did.”

“Why couldn’t he just cast a dream over her like he did to everyone in L.A.?”

“Because it’s my realm, Detective. His powers are weakened in my realm, just as mine would be in his. He knew he couldn’t take her from me and get out unscathed, so he retreated. And now he seeks to take from me what he believes I took from him.”

He doesn’t say it, but Chloe hears it all the same. _He’s trying to take you._

She shakes her head. “He can’t take me from you.”

“Yes,” he says quietly. “I’m starting to see that.” He gazes at her for a moment, and then he turns toward Constantine. “We’ll need your assistance to contact Death. She talked sense into her brother once, she can do it again.”

“She’s more likely to respond to a summons from a celestial than a human.”

“Yes, well, that may be true, but we don’t have much of a choice. I believe my channels for such communications are being blocked.” 

Constantine frowns. “What?”

“My brother won’t answer me when I pray,” Lucifer clarifies. “Neither will my father.”

Chloe looks at him in surprise. “You prayed to your dad?” 

He meets her gaze. “I told you, Detective. I’ll do whatever it takes.”

“How do you know you’re being blocked?” Constantine wonders before Chloe can respond. “What if they’re just busy? No offense, mate, but your dad isn’t exactly the most responsive chap.”

“My brother always answers, even when he’s otherwise engaged,” Lucifer replies. He tips his head toward Chloe. “And my father has never ignored a request I’ve made on her behalf.”

Chloe wonders what requests he’s made on her behalf, but she doesn’t ask. 

“Something is interfering,” Lucifer continues. “Or, rather, someone. I can’t be sure I’m not being monitored, either. That’s why I visited Zatanna in person rather than summoning her. And it’s why I had her summon you rather than doing it myself.”

Constantine smirks. “And here I thought it was because you knew I wouldn’t answer you.” 

Lucifer matches his smirk. “That too.” 

Constantine slides his hands into his pockets. “So what is it you’d like me to say?”

“Tell her I’d like to speak with her regarding a matter of grave importance. She can name the time and place. I’m happy to submit to any other demands she might make as well. She can name her price, though I suspect she won’t have one. She’s not the type.”

Constantine nods. “All right.” He glances at the massive house behind him and the giant pool around him. “I can’t do it here, though.”

“Disappear wherever you like,” Lucifer says, waving his hand. “But don’t be gone long.” He glances at Chloe. “We don’t have time to waste.”

Constantine glances at Chloe too, and then nods. “Right. Back in a jiff.”

And then he disappears into thin air. 

* * *

The Detective visibly startles when John disappears.

She whirls around, glancing behind her, and then scans the rest of the patio with her mouth open and her eyebrows furrowed. Lucifer watches her, his lips pressed together in an effort not to smile. She’s adorable when she’s confused.

“Did he just…?” she asks.

“Teleport, yes.” 

She turns toward him with an adorable frown. “I was going to say apparate. Like in Harry Potter.”

“You really need to expand your magical horizons, Detective.”

She gives him a look. “Yeah, I’ll get right on that.”

He laughs. 

She smiles. The sun is fully gone, and the soft lights on the patio along with the flickering fire nearby are casting an ethereal glow over her. She’s beautiful. 

“How long do you think he’ll be gone?” she wonders, oblivious to his admiration.

Lucifer lifts a shoulder. “Could be a few minutes, could be a few hours. Hard to say with him.”

She purses her lips and hums thoughtfully.

“Why? Is there something you’d like to do to pass the time?” A thought strikes him, and he makes a show of looking her up and down with a suggestive smirk. “I can think of a few things.”

“I’m sure you can,” she says, laughter threading through her voice. “But seeing as we don’t know when he’ll be back, I’d rather not get naked.”

“Modesty,” Lucifer scoffs. “Truly one of my father’s worst inventions.”

She smiles at him. “That should be your tagline.”

“Too wordy,” Lucifer says, waving his hand. “I think hashtag sex genius explains everything quite succinctly.”

The Detective rolls her eyes and turns toward the house. “I’m not even dignifying that with a response.”

She starts up the walk leading through the pool, and Lucifer follows her. 

“I don’t need a verbal response, you know,” he informs her. “Your body has responded on your behalf on more than one occasion. You needn’t confirm that I’m a fabulous lover when I’ve such ample evidence from you to prove it.”

“Mhmm,” she hums noncommittally. 

He takes the three steps up onto the patio in one stride. “Oh come now, Detective. There’s no shame in admitting it.”

She glances at him over her shoulder with a smile. “I thought you didn’t need confirmation?”

“I don’t.” 

“Then why are you fishing?”

“Fishing?” he repeats incredulously. “What on earth are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about how hard you’re working to get me to say that you’re the best sex I’ve ever had.”

He scoffs. “I don’t need you to say that. I know I am.”

She doesn’t reply. He frowns at the back of her head. 

“Aren’t I?”

She smirks at him over her shoulder. “You’re fishing again.”

He sputters at her and slows to a stop on the threshold between the patio and the kitchen. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knows she’s teasing him. He _knows_ it. Even if he didn’t know how many times he’s brought her to orgasm (yes, he keeps a running total, and no, that’s not weird—she’s so damned gorgeous when she comes and he waited so long to witness it that he intends to remember every single time it happens no matter how many there are), he can say with complete and utter certainty that there’s no way that Daniel or that ham-fisted neanderthal Cain ever gave her as good of a time as he does. 

But then he remembers Jed. Her first love. He said they had amazing sex. What if Jed is better at sex than him? What if she thinks of Jed when she’s with him?

The Detective is in the kitchen, studying the contents of the refrigerator with a slight frown. He wants to close the distance between them and kiss her senseless until he’s certain that he’s the only man she’s thinking about, but he feels sick to his stomach all of a sudden. What if, because she’s immune to everything else about him, he’s not as good with her as he was with everyone else?

She glances at him, and then double takes. Her eyebrows furrow. “Lucifer?”

“Hm?” he says, snapping to attention.

She studies him for a moment, and then her expression smooths out. She tilts her head at him the way she does when he’s done something she disapproves of. “Really?”

“What?”

She shuts the refrigerator doors. “Stop overthinking it. I was just teasing you.”

“I wasn’t overthinking it.” 

She arches an eyebrow at him.

“I wasn’t,” he insists. “In fact, I was _under_ thinking it. Negative thinking. Very hard to do for you mere mortals, but I’m the Devil so I happen to be an expert.”

The Detective opens her mouth, but seems to think better of what she was going to say and presses her lips together. She studies him again with her hands on her hips, and for a moment he feels like a suspect in one of her interrogations, and then her expression softens. 

She crooks her finger at him. “Come here.”

He doesn’t know what she wants, but he never turns down the opportunity to be close to her. He crosses the room obediently. She reaches for him when he’s within arm’s length, her fingers dipping beneath the lapels of his coat to tug him closer. His hands find her waist out of habit.

“I’m sorry,” she murmurs, tilting her head back to look at him. “I forget, sometimes, that this is all new for you.”

He frowns. “Don’t be ridiculous, sex isn’t new for me. I’ve slept with—”

“Please don’t finish that sentence.” 

He swallows what he was about to say.

“I meant being in a relationship,” she clarifies. “Caring about someone enough to want to be the best they’ve had.”

“Ah.” 

He wants to make a joke, or an innuendo, or something that will make it clear that he is not at all insecure about his abilities in the bedroom, but the ability to form additional words seems to have abandoned him. 

She smooths her fingers down his lapels. “You are, by the way,” she says, her voice soft. “The best I’ve been with, I mean.”

The tension in his chest evaporates instantly. “I am?”

He’s embarrassed by how breathlessly relieved he sounds, but he forgets his embarrassment as soon as she smiles. He dreamt of that smile so many times in Hell. His memory didn’t do it justice.

“Yeah,” she says. “But that’s all I’m going to say about it, because if I keep talking your ego is going to get huge and blow the roof off this place.”

“My ego isn’t the only thing that’s huge,” he says automatically. “And speaking of blowing—”

“Okay, stop talking.” She drops her hands from his jacket with a sigh. “I regret everything I just said. I take it all back.”

He shakes his head. “No take-backsies.”

She cracks a smile, and then snorts out a laugh. He smiles, pleased with himself. He likes her laugh. He likes it even better when he’s the catalyst.

He nods at the refrigerator. “Were you scanning for something in particular?”

“No,” she says, shaking her head. “I just realized I haven’t eaten in, like, forever. I’m starving. You think Postmates delivers out here?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. If you’re hungry, I’ll make something for you.”

She arches an eyebrow at him. “Really?”

“Well of course. I’m an excellent chef. What is it you desire? Risotto? Coq au vin? Ooh, arepas.”

She crinkles her nose. “I was thinking something easy and quick. Like, comfort food?”

Lucifer mentally shuffles through all the recipes he knows by heart until he finds one she’ll love. “I know just the thing.” He slides his hand over the small of her back and guides her toward the pantry. “Be a dear and fetch me a loaf of brioche from the pantry. Oh, and an onion.”

“You have brioche in the pantry?” she says incredulously. 

“Well of course, darling. I’m not a barbarian.”

The Detective snorts and heads for the pantry. Lucifer eyes her ass for a moment—it really does look spectacular in jeans—and then turns back to the refrigerator and flings open the doors. He pulls out all the ingredients he’ll need, setting them on the island behind him. He closes the doors when he’s done and heads for the wall of wine bottles nearby. He scans his dozens of options, finds a Pinot from a good year, and plucks it from its place.

When he turns back around, he finds the Detective with the brioche and an onion in her hands and her mouth open as she stares at the cluster of food he left on the island. 

“Is that a _ham?_ ” she asks, looking up at him.

“It is,” he confirms, striding toward her. 

She shakes her head. “Lucifer, I said _easy._ ”

“This is easy,” he says, pausing at a nearby cupboard to pull out two wine glasses. “Trust me.”

“I’m not sure I do given that you’re, you know, _you._ What are you making?”

“It’s called a croque monsieur.” 

“Crook what?”

“Croque monsieur,” he replies, unable to resist a smile. “It’s French. It loosely translates to Mr. Crunch.”

She doesn’t reply. He sets the glasses and the bottle of wine down next to the food he gathered from the fridge and turns to face her.

Her perfectly sculpted eyebrows are gathered in disbelief. “You’re making me something called Mr. Crunch?” 

He rolls his eyes. “You needn’t worry, Detective. I’m certain you’ll love it.”

“And you know this because?”

“Because you’ve never met a sandwich you didn’t like. Especially if there’s melted cheese involved.”

She perks up. “Oh, is it like a French grilled cheese?”

“More or less.” He brandishes his finger at her. “But your orange goop will not come within a thousand miles of what I’m about to create. Over my dead body.”

“Hey, come on,” she says, furrowing her eyebrows. “That stuff is great. It tastes good and it takes forever to expire.”

“That’s not exactly a point in your favor, Detective.”

She snorts. “Yeah. Okay. Fair enough. How can I help?”

He nods at a nearby drawer. “Grab the corkscrew and pour us some wine while I start the bechamel.” 

“I thought we were making sandwiches?”

“We are, darling. Just handle the wine, hm?”

She sighs but does as she’s told. Lucifer takes his jacket off and drapes it over a nearby stool, and then slips his cufflinks off and starts to roll his sleeves. When he’s done, he pours some milk into a saucepan on the stove. He drops a hefty dollop of butter into a second saucepan, and then turns the oven on to broil. 

He hears the cork of a wine bottle pop, and he glances over his shoulder at the Detective. His eyes get caught on the way her ponytail sways as she moves, and his heart does a funny sort of flip in his chest. 

He feels...lighter all of a sudden. Freer. They’re still in the middle of a nightmare—literally—and there’s still guilt gnawing at the edges of his mind, but something seems to have shifted since their discussion outside. He isn’t holding his breath anymore. He doesn’t feel like he’s standing on the edge of a precipice, swaying at the slightest breath of wind, hoping that he doesn’t fall to his demise. Maybe it’s having third-party confirmation of who’s behind this. Maybe it’s knowing that there’s finally a plan in motion to correct it. 

Maybe it’s her. 

He knows it’s her. It’s always her. She has this way of soothing him, of seeing past the reflection that everyone else sees and wanting him, regardless of the shadows around his soul. He used to worry that his darkness would eclipse her light. And he still does, sometimes. But every time he steps toward that precipice, every time he sways in the wind, she yanks him backward and wraps her arms around him and whispers _I love you._

Miracle doesn’t even begin to cover it. 

He doesn’t mean to stare. She’s hungry, and it’s not as though he hasn’t got plenty to do so that she’s properly wowed by his culinary skills. But he can’t seem to tear his eyes away from her. He’s always admired the female form, but it’s been clinical. A means to an end. He sees, he admires, he wants, he takes, he moves on. 

But the Detective...there’s no moving on from this. Not even if he wanted to, and he doesn’t. He wants to bask in her. He wants to paint her and photograph her. He wants to write sonnets about her smile and compose ballads about the shade of her eyes. He’s become what he used to loathe, and he’s not even sorry about it.

He’s admiring the sharp angle of her jaw—he used to fantasize about tracing his tongue along that jawline, and now that he can without risking a fist to the face he does so as much as possible—when she looks up at him.

She must realize he was staring, because a smirk spreads over her lips. “See something you like?” she teases.

His heart does that funny flip in his chest again, but he tries to play it cool. “Don’t say we can’t get naked and then tempt me,” he warns.

She laughs. He adds it to the list of things he’d like to write poems about. 

She grabs the now full glasses from the counter, and closes the distance between them. She offers him a glass, and he takes it. He can smell her shampoo and her perfume, a medley that’s distinctly her. He forces himself to sip his wine so he won’t inhale her like a madman. 

“Do I want to know how much this wine costs?” she asks, swirling the red liquid in her glass.

“$13,000 or so, last I checked.”

She snaps her gaze up to his, her eyes wide. “Are you serious?”

“Quite serious, yes.”

“Like...per case?”

“Per bottle, darling.”

Her eyes get even bigger. “Holy shit,” she murmurs. 

She’s adorable when she curses. She’s adorable all the time, really. He can’t stand it. She’s turned him into a pile of bloody mush. He’d be annoyed if he wasn’t so gone for her. 

“Take a sip,” he says, nodding toward the glass in her hand. 

She glances down at the glass and then tilts her head. “I don’t…”

“Take a sip, Detective.”

She chews her bottom lip and then takes a sip. 

“Well?” he prompts. 

A slow smile spreads over her lips. “It’s good.”

“Better than your cheap stuff?”

Her smile deepens. “Maybe.” 

He’s not surprised that she won’t outright admit it. She’s quite stubborn when she wants to be. Another thing he adores about her. 

She sets her glass down on the counter with a soft clink. “So we’ve got French wine, and you’re about to make French food. You got any French music to complete the trifecta?”

“I could turn some on,” he offers, setting his own glass down. “But I think I’m in the mood for something else. Something better.”

“90s jams,” she says with a nod. 

He snorts. “No, Detective. Something that won’t make my ears bleed.”

She makes a soft sound of offense in the back of her throat. He presses a kiss to the top of her head and then brushes past her toward the screen embedded in the wall. He taps it to life, and scrolls through the many playlists he has programmed into the system until he finds the one he wants. He presses play, and the soft strains of a guitar emanate from the speakers hidden throughout the kitchen, followed by a crooning voice.

_If I fall short_

_If I don’t make the grade_

_If your expectations aren’t met in me today_

_There’s always tomorrow_

He turns to face the Detective, and finds her watching him with clear interest. “Who is this?” she murmurs.

“Solomon Burke.” He crosses the kitchen to stand in front of her. “This is my blues and soul playlist.”

She tilts her head. “I didn’t know you liked blues and soul.”

“Of course I do. There would be no rock and roll without blues and soul, and we both know how much I love sex, drugs, and rock and roll.” He claps his hands together. “Now, let’s talk bechamel, shall we?”

She glances at the stove. “Sounds complicated.”

“Don’t be silly, it’s easier than a cheerleader on prom night.” He turns toward the stove and flicks on the burner beneath the saucepan containing butter. “We’ll start with the roux. Very simple. Put some butter on the stove, and while it melts, we grab some flour.”

He pulls a container down from a cupboard near the stove, pops the lid open, and dips a spoon inside. 

“Two tablespoons should suffice, considering it's just the two of us. We won’t add this until the butter is melted, though. Nab me that wooden spoon, would you?”

She reaches toward a crock on the counter nearby and hands him the spoon he requested. He takes it from her and prods the rapidly melting pile of butter in the saucepan. He watches it, waiting, and once it’s melted he adds the flour and starts to stir.

“It needs to be perfectly blended or you’ll have issues down the road,” he tells her, eyeing the mixture in the saucepan. “Even once it's blended, though, you’ll need to keep stirring for a bit. Make sure the gas is on low.” 

He follows his own advice and turns the burner down a little. 

“The worst thing you can do is turn the heat up too high. You don’t want a roux with color in it, either. You want it creamy white.”

He glances up at her because she hasn’t said anything in a while, and finds her staring at him with that same intent look she wears at work. 

“What?” he says, suddenly self-conscious. 

“Where’d you learn this?” 

He opens his mouth to answer her question, but she waves him off. 

“Nevermind, don’t answer that. I’m sure some ridiculously beautiful French model showed you after a marathon sex session.”

“Actually, his name was Jacques.”

The Detective’s eyebrows lift toward her hairline. 

“He was quite old and very much in love with his wife, so there was no sex.” He tilts his head. “He did have very pretty daughters, though, and they—”

“Yeah, don’t need to know that.” 

He smiles. “You needn’t be jealous, darling. They weren’t as pretty as you.”

“Yeah, and how many women have you said that to?” 

He shakes his head. “Only you.”

That seems to catch her off guard. The smile fades from her lips. She searches his gaze, and he feels suddenly exposed. It’s not an unpleasant feeling, which surprises him. He doesn’t particularly like being vulnerable. But he does like the way she looks at him when he confesses something to her. Like she’s awed, or maybe honored. He can’t for the life of him figure out why she’d view anything about him as a privilege, but he doesn’t want to look a gift horse in the mouth.

He swallows and turns back to the stove. “So, we’re just about done here,” he says, trying to find neutral ground again. Even after all this time, he’s still not used to how easily a look or a word from her can knock him unsteady. “So we’ll set this off to the side to cool, and focus on the milk. Flick that burner on.”

She obeys as he sets the roux to the side. He grabs a knife from the block nearby and then turns toward the island behind him. 

“There are several ways to season bechamel,” he explains as he grabs the onion and starts to chop it quickly. “You don’t have to season it at all, of course, but I prefer mine infused with some additional flavor. You’re not opposed to nutmeg, are you?”

“Uh...no?”

“Excellent.” 

He finishes with the onion, turns back to the stove, and carefully pushes the vegetable pieces off the cutting board and into the saucepan of milk. He adds nutmeg and a few other spices after that, and then turns the burner up.

“Now, you have to be careful here,” he tells her. “You want to bring it to a boil slowly, and then as soon as it starts to bubble you turn off the heat and let the flavors infuse.” 

“Okay,” she says. Her eyebrows are furrowed in concentration as she watches the milk. He wants to kiss her. He forces himself to watch the milk instead. 

When it starts to boil, he flips the heat off. 

“There. Now, as we wait, we assemble the sandwiches.” He wraps his hand around her elbow and pulls her gently toward the island, and then offers her a bread knife from the block on the counter. “You cut the bread.” 

She takes the knife from him with confidence, and then hesitates. “How thick?”

“How thick do you like it?” he says, leering at her.

She rolls her eyes. “I mean the bread, Lucifer.”

“An inch will do.” He leans toward her. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re terrifyingly sexy when you wield a knife?”

“Yes, actually.”

He frowns. “Who?”

She smirks at him. “I don’t kiss and tell.”

“Was it _Jed?_ ” he asks, curling his lip in disgust.

The Detective puts her hand on her hip. “Are you always going to say his name like that?”

“Like what?”

“Like he’s a contagious disease you’re afraid you’re going to catch.”

“Now that you mention it, he does bear a striking resemblance to photos I’ve seen of genital warts.”

The Detective sighs and rolls her eyes and slices into the brioche instead of replying. Lucifer grins at her, and then bends down to retrieve a baking sheet from a lower cupboard and sets it between them. 

“Put them here?” she asks, holding a slice of bread over the baking sheet. 

“Yes.” 

She plops the slice down, and he grabs it so he can spread dijon over it. 

“How many?” she asks.

“Eight total, I think. Two sandwiches each.” 

She cuts the bread with her bottom lip caught between her teeth. He wants to kiss her again. He used to think that if he ever got to the point where he could kiss her whenever he wanted, then the novelty would wear off and he wouldn’t constantly long for the feeling of her lips on his. 

He was wrong. 

He forces himself to focus on the task at hand. He carves the ham once the dijon has been spread, and lets her arrange the thick slices on top of the bread and then cover them with cheese. 

“Hm,” she hums, watching as he sets the second slices of bread over the first so that they finally look like sandwiches. “So where’s the sauce go?” 

“On top,” he replies, walking away from her to grab a strainer from a cupboard on the other end of the kitchen. “Then more cheese.”

As he walks back toward her, he watches her rearrange the sandwiches on the sheet. A smear of dijon ends up on her thumb, and she lifts her finger to her mouth absently and sucks it clean. 

Heat tugs at his groin, and temptation flutters in his chest. He obeys the impulse. He stops next to her, wraps his fingers around her wrist, and lifts her thumb to his mouth. 

She snaps her eyes up to meet his. He purses his lips around her thumb and sucks. She lowers her gaze to his mouth, her own mouth falling open a little. Tension cracks through the air. When she lifts her eyes back to his, he strokes his tongue lightly along the edge of her thumb and then presses a soft kiss to her knuckles. 

“Had to make sure you got it all,” he murmurs with a smile. 

Her eyes dip back down toward his mouth. Her pupils are dilated. She wants him. He can tell. 

“Penny for your thoughts,” he whispers.

She purses her lips around a smile as she pulls her hand away from his. “Jerk.”

He grins at her. He turns back to the stove and puts the saucepan with the roux back on the burner and flicks it on. 

She appears at his side. “What now?”

“We’re going to pour the milk into the roux through the strainer.” He does exactly what he says, careful not to splatter any on his shirt. “Then we’re going to whisk—hand me the whisk, darling.”

She hands him the whisk, and he turns up the temperature of the burner and starts to stir the contents of the saucepan.

“We’re going to whisk—slowly, mind you—and let it thicken.” He glances up at her. “And that’s it. See? I told you it was easy.”

She smiles at him. “You know, you’re a pretty good teacher. Either that or you’re just showing off.”

“I’ve no need for showing off, Detective. My extraordinary abilities speak for themselves.”

She folds her arms over her chest. “You’re not good at everything you know.”

He scoffs. “Name one thing I don’t excel at.”

“Monopoly.”

“How _dare_ you,” he says, turning the burner up a little higher. “I’m a marvelous Monopoly player when I’m not playing with two cheats.”

“You’re also a sore loser,” she points out with a smile. “And a sore winner, if we’re being honest.”

“Yes, well, nobody’s perfect. Of course, some of us are more perfect than others. And I think it’s clear I’m as close to perfection as they come.”

“You can add humility to the list,” she says dryly. 

He narrows his eyes at her. “I said one thing, Detective. No need to go overboard and make a list.”

She leans closer to him, her chest pressing against his arm. “You want me to tell you some stuff you’re good at before you start overthinking again?”

“Now there’s a list I wouldn’t mind hearing. I can even supply the first. I am very, _very_ good at making you climax.” 

There’s a slightly pink tinge to her cheeks all of a sudden. It’s adorable. 

“I was going to say you’re creative. And resourceful. And very sweet when you want to be.”

“Yes, of course,” he says disimissively. “But also sex.”

She rolls her eyes. “Yes, Lucifer. Also sex.”

“I thought so.”

She sighs at him.

He reaches for a nearby wooden spoon and dips it into the bechamel. When he pulls the spoon out and sees that the back is coated with thickened sauce, he nods.

“It’s done.” He offers her the spoon. “Would you like to try it?”

She wraps her fingers around his wrist instead of taking the spoon from him, and then leans forward and licks the spoon. Which, to be fair, is what he implied she should do. But he didn’t tell her to make eye contact while she did it, and he sure as hell didn’t tell her to flick her tongue over the wood like that. Her fingertips are applying just the slightest pressure to his wrist, and his mind flickers toward a fantasy of what that pressure would feel like elsewhere. His groin tightens painfully.

She hums under her breath. “Delicious.”

He swallows. “Glad you like it,” he manages to say. 

She licks her lips, still holding his gaze, and suddenly all he can think about is that one time when those lips were wrapped around—

“Penny for your thoughts,” the Detective murmurs with a smirk. 

Lucifer glares at her. “Minx.” 

She grins and tips her head toward the stove. “You gonna finish these sandwiches, or do you need a minute alone?”

He huffs at her and grabs the saucepan. “I’d need far more than a minute.”

She hums under her breath again, and for some reason he finds it incredibly sexy. He decides to keep that to himself. She’s already smug enough. No need to give her further proof of her power over him. 

“So now that the bechamel is finished,” he says, turning toward the island with the saucepan in hand, “we spoon it over the sandwiches.”

She follows him. “More cheese on top?” 

“Indeed.”

He spoons the sauce over the sandwiches, and she sprinkles some cheese over the tops. He sets the saucepan back on the stove when they’re done, flicks the burner off, and then reaches for the baking sheet. 

“And now we slide them in here to broil,” he says, opening the stove door and sliding the sheet in. “Only for a bit though. Just long enough to melt the cheese.” He straightens and turns toward her. “And that’s that.”

He expects to find her smiling, or maybe looking awed and impressed by his skill, but she’s staring at the stove with an odd look on her face. 

He frowns. “Detective?”

She snaps to attention. “Hm?”

“What is it?”

She shakes her head. “Nothing.”

She’s lying. He lifts his eyebrows at her but resists the urge to call her on it. 

She exhales slowly and tugs on her jacket. “I was just thinking that Trixie would love this,” she confesses.

Guilt roars to life in Lucifer’s chest and threatens to swallow him whole. He can still hear the urchin screaming at him— _Liar! I hate you!_ —and he can still see the tears streaming down the Detective’s face as she drove away. His chest aches. 

The Detective is watching him. He can tell by the look on her face that she’s worried about him. He doesn’t like that. He knows she’d disagree if he said it aloud, but she shouldn’t be focused on him when she’s the one who lost everything. 

He clears his throat. “Well, now you know how it’s done. As soon as this is over, you can wow her with your new culinary skills.”

The Detective shakes her head. “I meant with you,” she says softly. “She would love doing this with you.”

Lucifer stares at her, at a loss for words. She stares back, empathy clear in her eyes. His chest aches again. He doesn’t deserve this. He doesn’t deserve her or her offspring. The urge to wrap his arms around her and bury his face in the curve of her neck and breathe her in is overwhelming, but he resists. 

He smooths his hand over his shirt. “I’ll take your word for it.”

Sadness flickers in her eyes. He can’t stand it, so he opens the door of the stove and peers inside. The sandwiches look perfect, so he grabs a dish towel to protect his hand and pulls the baking sheet out.

“Here we are,” he says brightly, setting the sheet on top of the stove. He tosses the towel onto the counter, and then gestures at the finished product with a flourish and a bow. “Croque monsieur, mademoiselle.”

She smiles. “Can I try one?”

“By all means. Just don’t burn your tongue. We’ll need it later.”

She gives him a look. He grins at her. She rolls her eyes, and then steps up to the stove. She picks up a sandwich gingerly, and then bends forward and takes a small bite. 

Her reaction is immediate. Her head tips back, exposing the line of her throat, and her eyes flutter closed. She moans, and though he’s guessing it’s supposed to be in appreciation of the food, his mind goes to far more sinful places. His pants suddenly feel too tight.

“Detective,” he whines. 

She smirks at him. “Sorry,” she says, covering her mouth. She swallows, and lowers her hand. “That’s unbelievable.”

Pride flares in his chest. “Is it?”

“Yeah. I mean it’s…” 

She takes another bite, and her eyes roll briefly back into her head. He decides he’s not going to sleep tonight until he’s pulled a similar reaction from her with something other than food. 

She swallows and sighs. “Wow.”

“So you approve?”

“Oh definitely.” She sets the sandwich back on the baking sheet and lifts her sauce covered index finger to her mouth. She meets his gaze while she sucks it clean, and then smirks. “You have my full-throated approval.”

He steps into her space, looming over her. “You’re a tease, Detective.”

“Am I?” she says innocently. She darts her eyes over his body in a quick once-over. “Pot meet kettle.” 

It’s hard to resist her when she’s looking at him like that, but he’s determined not to be the first to give in to the tension simmering between them. He gestures at the food on the stove. 

“Would you say this is the best thing you’ve ever eaten?”

“Not enough for you to be the best at sex, huh? Gotta be the best chef I’ve ever known too?”

“Is that a yes?”

She tilts her head. “I don’t know. Those fries you definitely didn’t make when we had dinner the night your stewardess interrupted us were pretty good.”

“She wasn’t _mine,_ ” Lucifer corrects immediately. And then he winces. “Still sorry about that by the way.”

The Detective lifts a shoulder. “Ancient history.”

The air between them sparks again. Lucifer glances down at her mouth. He wants to kiss her, and judging by the way she’s leaning toward him, she wants him to. If he does, he’ll lose the battle of wills they’ve got going on. He’s not sure he cares anymore. He just wants to taste her.

He’s leaning toward her when her words finally catch up with him.

_Ancient history._

He stops. That’s not true. It’s not ancient history. Not for her. For him, maybe, because it was thousands of years ago. But for her, that night on the penthouse balcony and everything that happened after—the beach, her near-death experience, his disappearance and then his return with Candy on his arm—is far more recent. It’s a wound that hasn’t yet healed. He knows because it wasn’t that long ago that she stood before him, tears streaming down her face, and said _You let me fall in love with you and then you married someone else. Do you have any idea how much that hurt?_

Shame washes over him. He knew he’d hurt her, but he didn’t know it was deep enough to still bleed. The pain in her voice out on that patio, though, made it crystal clear that it’s an open wound, not a scar. 

He can’t ignore that. Not if he wants to be good enough for her. 

“Detective,” he murmurs.

Her eyes flicker briefly down to his mouth. “Hm?” 

His chest aches. She has no idea what he’s about to say to her. He doesn’t _want_ to say it. Maybe he doesn’t have to. It’s not like she asked him to. He could just...put it off. Pretend it doesn’t matter until she tells him it does. 

_Tell the truth,_ a voice that sounds like hers whispers in the back of his mind. 

“There’s something I have to tell you,” he says before he can lose his nerve.

He watches as suspicion blossoms in her eyes. His clever Detective. She always knows when something is wrong.

“Okay,” she says quietly. Her eyebrows furrow. “What is it?”

He takes a deep breath and takes the plunge.

“It’s about Candy.”


End file.
